Twig
by adamheap
Summary: A story following Dr Steven Reynolds, his wife, Brenda, and a new addition to the family, as life is thrown into turmoil
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Garfield was right, you know. Mondays suck. They had been the same for years without fail. Always waking up at six o'clock in the morning, driving across town to work, labouring under the moans and groans of sick patients and demanding bosses at the local hospital. Tuesdays, as well. And Wednesdays. Thursdays and Fridays after that. Saturdays and Sundays were spent at home writing up notes and putting up with tedious phone calls from new employees who should never have made it into their professions in the first place.

Today was no different from any other Monday, during work hours at least. I had finished up the X-rays with Mr O'Connor and was indulging in a steaming cup of coffee in the staff lounge, one eye focused on the computer e-mail system that would dutifully interrupt at the least welcomed times. Dr Johnson, a friend for many years, was sat adjacent, having just finished up whatever duties he had to attend to, and also trudging his way through his hot drink.

"I had to do it, Steven." He said. "I couldn't stand his moaning anymore! How anyone can get so uppity about an ingrowing toenail is beyond me."

"Dan won't be happy with you just giving out drugs and sending people home. We're a hospital, not a pharmacy." I put my coffee down and scrolled through incoming e-mails. "I know what you mean though. That woman who runs the exotic store came in yesterday with a fracture. Fell down the stairs. Honestly, the way she was talking, it was like she thought it was _my_ fault! It's not my fault she has no coordination."

Johnson scoffed. "They always need someone to blame."

"Yeah. Just ask my wife." We exchanged a forced chuckle.

An e-mail buzzed onto the screen. It was addressed to me: _Dr Reynolds, Orthopedic ward._

"Great. My five minute break is obviously going to be cut short again." I groggily read through the e-mail, just taking enough of it in to find that I had appointments with five new patients. Another was waiting for me in the wards reception. I chugged down my coffee, got up and adjusted my uniform.

Johnson shook his head pitiably. "I feel for you, man." Somehow, this statement made me feel no better, and I returned a roll of the eyes.

"The day I finally get promoted to a job just a little less tedious can't come too soon." I grumbled.

"That's what they all say. Don't worry though, something will turn up."

With that, I left the lounge, put on my hospital face (an irritating fake smile for the patients), and made my to the reception.

Despite my loathing for a majority of the patients I attended to, there were occasionally those who weren't a complete waste of air. The patient who would be waiting was a friend of my wife, who, according to the file I had read over earlier, had broken his humerus. As I opened the reception door, I spotted him using his one good arm to flip through a gardening magazine.

His name was Bill. He was an older man, sporting receding grey hair and thick spectacles over his aging, wrinkled eyes. He wore a grey suit and a red tie, always appearing so formal, but he now held his left arm in an ugly white bandage. I cringed at the long white-grey hairs that sprouted haphazardly from his ears and nose.

Bill was one of the few patients I could actually get along with. He may have been old, but his lasting position on the town council made him an important and admirable figure.

"Mr Ross," I greeted. "Good morning."

He rose steadily to his feet with a smile. "Good morning to you, too, Dr Reynolds." He shook my hand using his working arm. "I hope you have been keeping well."

"Well enough." I sighed and invited him to my office. I proceeded to guide him from reception and through the long office corridor. "What on Earth did you do to your arm? I can't imagine this was a skateboarding accident."

"Oh, it was nothing. I just tripped and landed rather awkwardly." He said, following along behind me.

"I see."

We entered my office. It was small, perhaps a little too compact, with a window overlooking some dirty alleyways behind the hospital. Files of varying colours littered the floor and the overflowing bookshelf. My desk was lined with pictures of my parents and my wife. Mostly, they were of my wife.

"How is Brenda?" Bill enquired, spotting the picture in the red frame. It was from our wedding day, four years and three-hundred-and-forty-four days ago.

"She's coping. We don't see each other too much anymore, now that she has that new office job."

"Ah. Are you working different hours?"

"No. She just… isn't around as much."

Bill gave me a knowing glance. Then he looked away, a little embarrassed. "I'm sure she's just adjusting."

There was a brief awkward silence, and I decided that it was time to move on. I read through his files, questioned him about any feeling he still had in his broken arm, and asked if he had ever injured it before. The usual stuff.

There was nothing unusual about his injury, and I assured him that he would heal well, given that he didn't do anything to aggravate the injury further.

"Well, Bill," I said as the appointment came to a close. "Just take good care of it and it should be fine. That means no more skateboarding."

He huffed out a laugh and got up to shake my hand. "I'll resist the temptation, Steven. Don't worry about me."

I smiled, relieved at finally having a bearable patient stroll into my office today. "It was good to see you again, Bill. You can give me or Brenda a call if there are ever any issues."

Bill nodded and turned for the door. Then he hesitated and turned back to face me.

"Your wife, Stephen," He started, his face now a little more serious. "If she's having trouble adjusting to her new job. To your new house… May I make a recommendation?"

"Sure, Bill. What is it?" I perched myself on the edge of my desk.

"There's this organisation that started up some time ago that operates in the local area. It's a great place to meet people, discuss anything that needs to be discussed. I go there regularly, and I'm sure you'd both enjoy it. Both you and Brenda."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? What's it called?"

"It's called The Sharing, Steven. You should give it a try sometime."

With that, he left my office. I needed a coffee.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I entered our house, finding all the lights were off. This meant that Brenda had not yet returned home, giving me both a sense of relief and a simultaneous sense of loneliness. I closed the door behind me and dropped my briefcase on the nearest available surface with a disgruntled sigh. As I walked into the kitchen area I noticed several to-do notes scattered across the work surface. Some tasks I had already completed, some that I didn't want to complete. I turned on the lights and scrunched up the loose notes, dropping them in the open bin.

Tonight was not a night for those chores. I simply wasn't in the right state of mind. I cleaned up around the dining table, but that was all I really felt like doing.

A recipe book sat open by the chopping board; something I had planned before I went to work. I searched out the ingredients after turning on the radio. It was good company while the house was empty, providing a distraction from the ideas that would forever pop into my head.

When dinner was finally cooking, I set about putting away my briefcase and changing into some casual clothing. I began to feel just a little less resentful, when I heard the front door open and slam. Brenda was home, and judging from the ferocity with which the door was slammed, her day had not gone too well.

The sounds of a frustrated wife permeated the house as I cautiously made my way downstairs. She was rearranging the things I had "cleaned up" earlier, each instance accompanied with a grunt of dissatisfaction. Her eyes turned up to me, and instantly turned back down, as her shuffling became pathetic attempts at trying to make herself look busy.

"Brenda." That was more of an acknowledgement of her presence than a sincere greeting.

"Steven." She responded, expressed in a similarly emotionless manner.

"How was work today?" I asked, propping myself against the dinner table she was messing around with and awaiting the inevitable response.

"Don't ask. I've had this job for three days and I already hate it."

I looked to the floor before heading back to the cooking area. The concoction was simmering, and I gave it a stir. "I'm making dinner tonight. Chili."

"And then I come home to find the house in a mess." Brenda said, continuing her rant. "Must you leave these files everywhere? It's like you come home and everything just explodes! Then you leave it for _me_ to clean up." She grabbed several sheet of paper and deposited them on my father's old rocking chair that sat in the corner of the room.

"Brenda, please," I sighed. "I have a lot of paperwork to do tonight. I don't need you moving everything."

She huffed and sat down in the nearest chair, resting her chin in her palms. "I just need a little space today."

The food no longer needed stirring. I continued to, anyway. "Was it really that bad today?"

"Yes, it was." She threw her head back, adjusting her frazzled hair. "If it weren't for the money… I don't know."

Now I stopped stirring and walked over to sit in the chair beside her. "You don't have to keep this job going, you know."

"I do, Steven. Without this job, we don't have the money to pay for Dad's care."

Brenda's father had recently been taken ill, and spent all his time in either a care home or the hospital. Due to the costs of keeping him alive, we had to sell our old house and move into this new house. My salary was good, but not quite enough to keep our old house and pay for Brenda's father at the same time.

We now lived on the outskirts of town, in an isolated area just outside of the woods that stretched towards the mountains. We had very few neighbours here, the closest being just over a mile away. I actually preferred it this way, because it was always much quieter, save the sounds of wildlife outside.

I nodded acceptingly. "I could talk to Dan at work. He's a good guy, maybe he can raise my salary if I explain our situation to him."

"Really? A raise? From Dan? That guy would steal a quater from a homeless man. He'd sooner fire you."

I shook my head. "He's not _that _stingy."

She scoffed and got out of her seat, heading for the lounge. "You know I'm right, Steven." She lowered the blinds over the windows and turned on the lights. "It's just something I'll have to put up with until he finally goes."

Her attention was distracted by an old table clock that sat on the windowsill. It was the clock her late mother had left for her in her will. She never had much else to give. It was about a foot tall, made with some sort of wood, the kind of which I had no idea. It was the only thing in this house that Brenda really treasured. A small comfort that she would tinker with whenever she was stressed.

She played with it a lot more often these days.

It was awkward talking about her father's approaching death, but it was something that had thrown us into great turmoil over this last year. Since he had been taken ill, things had quickly taken a turn for the worse, most notably our relationship. Everything seemed destined to drive us apart, with only her father's illness seemingly keeping us together.

There were times like these where I just wanted things to turn around. I wanted our relationship to succeed. Somehow, since we got married, things never went the way we wanted, and we became more strained and alienated from each other. We needed to find common ground again, something we could do as a couple.

It turned out that she was thinking exactly the same thing. "I met with Linda today. She asked about you."

"She should be minding her own business." I mumbled in annoyance.

Brenda ignored that and continued. "She knows that we've… that we've been going through some troubled times. She told me about this thing called The Sharing."

I remembered that Bill had mentioned this earlier. "The Sharing, huh?"

"She goes there with the other girls from the office. They have meetings around town, usually in the bars and the restaurants. She says that they have a barbeque tomorrow night somewhere near here."

"And you're suggesting that we go there." I assumed.

Brenda shrugged and finally stopped tinkering with her clock, turning her head up to look at me for the first time today. "Steven, we need to do something about this relationship. I want us to try anything that might help. Linda said that it helped her and her husband get back together."

"That was only because he got himself into a cushy new job. She's just after his income."

She groaned. "So this is going to be yet another one of my ideas you're just going to dismiss, I suppose."

"I didn't say that."

"Yeah, but you implied it." Her angry tone had re-emerged, and she dropped our eye contact.

"You honestly think that some boy scouts meeting will save this relationship? You think that eating at some crappy barbeque will fix everything? You think me talking to your awful friends will somehow make us fall in love again?"

"Fine!" She squeaked, stamping her way past me. "Fine, we'll just do nothing. This will all just go away!"

"Brenda, just-" It was obvious that she was finished talking, and she quickly disappeared up the stairs before I could respond. She wouldn't come back down for a while.

Every night was like this. At least, that's how it felt.

Now that Brenda had left for her room, I was left with my thoughts. I turned off the radio and stood over the dinner. It was ready.

I thought of The Sharing. Bill had recommended it, as had Linda, and despite my disdain for Brenda's friends and my lack of trust for any of their inane suggestions, I took Bill a lot more seriously. Perhaps the stubbornness I had displayed was just another attempt to show that Brenda was not in control of me. Maybe this new community was the sort of thing we needed to finally talk on a personal level, without the rage and the tiredness accumulated from work and her father forcing every word.

It was too late to discuss it with her now. She wouldn't allow me into the bedroom, and I would once again find myself sleeping on the sofa in the living room under the watch of her mother's clock. Tomorrow, I would take her to The Sharing. I would show her that I was still desperately trying to save this relationship.

I stared down at my latest attempt, the food that bubbled in front of me. It hadn't worked tonight. She hadn't even acknowledged it.

I took the pan and poured its contents into the bin.

"Maybe tomorrow, Steven," I mumbled. "Maybe tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The Sharing was hosting a bi-monthly barbeque for adult members near the river that ran from the mountains. There were a surprising number of people there, a lot more than I had initially expected. I even recognised a few people there, mostly from the hospital. As suspected, Bill was there, and he was definitely one of the more commanding presences at this particular event.

It was not easy to convince Brenda to come after last night's little argument, but after some gentle encouragement, and most probably out of sympathy for my efforts to re-forge a relationship, she decided to come along with me. When we got to the event, though, it became obvious that we wouldn't be spending much time together. We were instantly pulled apart by our work companions, finding ourselves standing at opposite ends of the clearing. I would try to find my way back to her, but would be instantly dragged off to greet other acquaintances, most of whom I recognised by face only.

I was then distracted by Marty Johnson. He had brought alcohol.

"Oh, thank God! You are my hero, Johnson." I said, relieved.

"What's a barbeque without a few cans?" He handed me a cooled beer from his ice box. "So, is this your first time at one of these meetings?"

I chugged greedily from the can and expressed my satisfaction in an approving sigh. "First time. It was mostly Brenda's idea." I lied.

"This is my third meeting." Johnson said. "Probably to be my last. I came down initially to meet some friends that I knew from college. Have a few drinks, shoot some pool, you know."

"Don't you like it anymore?" I asked.

He shrugged. "They changed, I guess. They have different priorities these days. They don't seem to have time for the things in life that are fun anymore. We used to watch the Superbowl with some beers, go out to the bars and ogle all the women. I can't stand being around them anymore."

I stayed with Johnson for a while, but finally felt the need to return to my wife and try to strike up a conversation with her and her friends, several of whom had decided to come along. I got rid of my beer can, forced down a rather rancid burger, and headed over. She was sitting with three other girls on a large bank overlooking the river.

"Steven! Hi!" A voice shrieked. It was Linda, one of Brenda's more irritating friends. "How are you? Oh, it's been so long!"

"I'm fine, Linda. And you?"

I blanked as she began rolling through the epic biography of her life over the past few weeks, exchanging the occasional glance with Brenda, who didn't look particularly pleased with my arrival. After Linda's exhausting diatribe had finally died down, I sat down beside Brenda and tried to integrate myself into their little group. After five minutes or so, however, I had lost all hope of enjoying myself, and found myself desperate to return to Johnson and his ice box. Brenda seemed to pick up on my disdain, and gave me disapproving looks with every mumbled comment and every awkward sigh I gave.

It became obvious very quickly that this would be another failure. I hated the food, I hated the location, I hated the people here, and I hated myself for hating it all!

I politely excused myself and headed back to Johnson, who was happy to offer another beer. We spent the rest of the night going through awkward conversations with the other guys there, and I and Brenda didn't talk again. The beer and the burgers eventually began to taste a little bitter.

Two hours after arriving, we decided to leave for home. We would grunt at each other, and that would be the extent of our conversations until we entered the car and stared blankly at the windshield.

"Well," I sighed. "That was…"

"Awful." Brenda groaned.

I looked down at the steering wheel. "So, are you interesting in going to any more meetings with them, then? This Sharing group?"

She didn't reply, and planted her chin on her arm, rested against her door. It was a sentiment I wholeheartedly agreed with.

"That's a no, then." I rubbed at my face with my hands and turned on the engine. "It wasn't quite what I had expected."

"Everyone there sucks." Brenda stated bluntly. It was a harsh, childish statement, born more from frustration than anything else, but I couldn't help agree with her for the most part. "I see you had fun with Marty, though. That's nothing new."

I shook my head and began to reverse out of our parking spot. "Can you blame me? I hardly knew anyone else there."

"What about me, Steven?" She huffed impatiently.

"I tried, Brenda."

"Oh, _great_ try. You lasted about two minutes before you made it perfectly clear that you didn't want to be around me." She growled.

"It wasn't you who I didn't want to be around. Linda really grates my nerves, and you know that." I proceeded to drive down the road, away from the meeting.

"You never liked any of my friends, did you?" She said, barely keeping her voice lower than a shout. "You avoid me whenever we're out in public. It's like you're ashamed to be seen with me." I could tell that she was holding back tears, and I needed to try to calm us both down.

"I'm not ashamed to be with you. I never was."

Then she struck a nerve. "You were never to be ashamed to be around Cindy, though, were you?"

I slowed the car and brought it to the side of the road, bringing it to a halt. "I knew it. I just knew that you'd bring that up again! I was _not_ interested in Cindy!"

She turned to glare at me. "I saw the messages, Steven! You think I didn't notice how you'd leave every night for _extra work hours_?"

My frustration had turned to anger, and I exhaled heavily through my teeth. For the last few months, Brenda had been accusing me of having an affair with one of the nurses at the hospital, and would often bring it up in heated arguments as though it were some kind of trump card.

"I never had anything with Cindy, Brenda." I urged.

"So I'm paranoid? Is that it?" She wasn't going to let me win this particular argument. "That was what you said last time. Am I crazy, Steven? Am I crazy?!"

"Yes!"

A tear rolled down her cheek, and she looked away, out of the windshield. "Just take me home, Steven." She reached down and turned on the car radio. This conversation was done.

I accelerated and continued on down the road as the sun was setting on the horizon, soon swallowed by the tall trees of the woods as we drove down in the direction of home. We sat in silence, half focusing on the radio, half focusing on our situation.

Perhaps this was the night it had truly ended. Maybe it was a final attempt to rekindle us as a couple, and it had failed miserably. I tried to come to terms with this, but after a while I couldn't stand it anymore, and I focused entirely on the radio and the road ahead of us.

The radio station was doing a run-down of local events. I was about to change it over to find some music that I enjoyed, when something made us both perk up.

"Local police have closed off access to a large area of woods just east of the town, up to the foot of the mountains, after an alleged gang-related incident." The radio host reported. "Officers were called to the scene after local residents reported strange sightings. The local police chief has informed the media that the incident had involved gang warfare over the trading and distribution of illegal substances, including methamphetamines."

"East of the city?" Brenda chirped, breaking our silence. "Will that affect us?"

"We should find out soon enough." I responded, keeping my eyes glued to the road.

The radio continued. "An area, approximately two square miles, has been restricted for police investigation. Local residents have been asked to remain in their houses until the investigations are completed."

I shook my head in annoyance. "This is just fantastic… Now we're going to have the cops snooping around our house!"

The radio was quick to interrupt my rant. "Several people in the area earlier today allegedly spotted exotic animals in the area, including a gorilla and a tiger. The police have assured the public that these claims are unfounded."

Brenda raised an eyebrow. "A tiger in these woods? Honestly, some people will say anything for attention."

So we drove onwards for home as the sun finally set and the sky quickly turned to the deep blue of the oncoming night, the cars headlights chasing the slithering woodland road.

It wasn't long before we found what we had expected to see. We turned a corner and came face-to-face with two squad cars guarding a long crime scene tape that wound around trees to our left and right. A rather chunky officer had noticed our approach and waddled over. I rolled down my window.

"Evening, Officer." I greeted in my most formal and polite manner.

He placed his hairy hands on the door frame and peered inside the car. "Good evening to you both. I'm afraid you'll have to take a different route. This area is currently being closed off."

I nodded. "We heard that there was something going down here, but we live in this area."

The officer hesitated, then nodded and said, "Could you wait here just a moment, sir?" He made his way back to one of the squad cars and reached inside. He pulled out a map and came back, handing it to me through the window.

The area that had been restricted was clearly indicated by large red lines. Our house, as I pointed out to the officer, was just on the border of the restricted area on the side facing the mountains.

"I'm afraid you'll have to take a detour, sir." He said apologetically. "This area is strictly off-limits. I suggest taking the road that follows the river to the North, then head South."

I looked over the map, taking note of the roads he had suggested taking, but my eyes were distracted by movement ahead and I looked up. In the distance, illuminated by the cars flashlights, was another officer slowly pacing between the trees. He was holding a large automatic firearm.

"Sir," The officer by our car pressed. "Are you alright?"

I shook off the image and looked up at him. "Um… Yes, officer. I'm fine. Just memorising the route."

"Good. You just be safe out there tonight, sir." He gave a curt nod. "If you see anything suspicious, inform the police immediately."

I was beginning to worry. Just a little bit, though. "We will do, officer."

The chunky officer returned to his post in front of the police line. I closed the window and looked to Brenda. According to her facial expression, she had seen the armed officer as well.

"Well, then," I began. "Looks like we're taking the scenic route."

The road that winded beside the river added a lot of miles to our journey, but as we drove along and the night rolled in, we came to realise the extent of the restricted area. Crime scene tape stretched and wound through the trees the entire way around. The area may have been two square miles earlier, but it quickly became apparent that the police were expanding their search. Flashlight beams would shine between tree trunks as we passed, and we noticed even more heavily armed officers stood on guard, forming a perimeter.

The police were definitely searching for someone, or something, and they were desperate.

"Must have been a pretty big drug trade…" Brenda commented.

I nodded. "They must be searching out some hideout. Probably some huge stashes of crystal meth hidden underground somewhere. Maybe we should be searching too." I was never much of a comedian.

The road came to a T-junction, and we turned right to head southwards, keeping the police boundary to our right. "This thing is literally going to be across the road from us." I muttered.

I was right. We parked up on the road just outside of our house, noticing the police tape stretching between the trees that paralleled our property on the other side of the road. There were no flashlights in the area. No armed police in sight.

We exited the car and were destined for bed (well, our separate beds), when we heard a rather unusual noise coming from the bushes that lined our side of the road.

"Raccoon?" Brenda suggested, staring over at the bushes.

"I don't think so." I replied.

The noise echoed into the woods again, a sort of guttural, weak cry. The cry was followed by a high-pitched whine, much like a dog with a bad cold.

"That definitely isn't a raccoon." I concluded. "Could you pass me the flashlight?"

Brenda went back into the car and pulled a flashlight from the glove compartment, handing it to me. I turned it on and shone the bright light towards the source of the noise. The noises continued as I crept closer, watching as the bush twitched and bobbed with the movement from within.

I pulled back the foliage and shone the flashlight inside.

"What the…" I gasped.

Brenda bounded over to my side. "What is it, Steven?"

"I… I don't know." I continued to stare in awe at the thing that had crawled into our bushes. "Brenda? In the back of the car is an empty suitcase. There's also a pair of gardening gloves."

She took the hint and ran off to search the car trunk for the equipment I had specified. A moment later, I was wearing a pair of gardening gloves as she held the partially-opened suitcase. I reached down into the bush, much to the terror of the creature sat within. It flailed and yelped as I grabbed it securely in my gloves and I hoisted it into the suitcase. Brenda quickly zipped it up and looked up to me, wide-eyed.

Distant lights shone through the trees in the distance, and the sound of the police voices filled the air. We took the suitcase and headed into our home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

We brought the suitcase inside and dropped it carefully on the living room sofa. The creature was flailing around incessantly within, pressing against the sides and yelping loudly in protest. Both I and Brenda stood side-by-side for a long period, staring intermittently at the suitcase and then at each other.

After a few motionless minutes, wondering what we were going to do with the strange creature that we had trapped in the suitcase, Brenda sighed and started closing the blinds over the windows. I assumed that she didn't want the attention of any police officers sneaking by and wondering why we were stood looking blankly at a suitcase that was slowly rocking back and forth as its resident struggled inside.

"So," Brenda finally spoke up. "What is it? It obviously shocked you enough to lock it up in a suitcase."

"I just want to get a better look at it." I muttered, looking down at my flashlight.

Brenda nodded and then briskly exited the living room.

"Where are you going?" I asked, rather impatiently.

"Hold on, I'm just getting something." With that, she disappeared into the corridor. This left me alone with the suitcase that continued to yelp and whine and kick in front of me. It sure didn't sound like a raccoon, nor did it sound like a dog or a bird. It sounded like nothing I had ever heard before.

Brenda returned, holding a thick hardback book. "Here. We can find out what it is from this." It was a book on native wildlife that gave basic information on pretty much every vertebrate species found in this part of the country. She opened it and flicked to the contents page. "What did it look like?"

I raised an eyebrow and paused, just staring at her.

She rolled her eyes and repeated, "Steven, what did it look like?"

I pursed my lips, and then said, "Take a look for yourself." I passed her the flashlight.

Taking the flashlight in her spare hand, she looked at me quizzically, then down towards the suitcase. I moved over to it and slowly unzipped the top without trying to alarm the creature inside. It had grown quieter now, no longer banging on the sides but still whimpering pathetically.

She activated the flashlight and hung over the lip of the suitcase, dipping the light inside. Her eyes went wide and her mouth noticeably gaped. Then she dropped the flashlight on the sofa and fingered through the wildlife encyclopaedia that she held. I stared over her shoulder and noticed that she couldn't quite figure out which section to turn to. She eventually settled on the reptile section, and brushed through right to the end. She wasn't satisfied, and grabbed the flashlight to re-examine her specimen.

"It won't be in the book." I stated calmly. "I've never heard of or seen anything like it before." I joined her in looking down at the stunned creature that was lying flat, petrified against the base of the suitcase.

Brenda shrugged. "It looks like a lizard."

"It isn't a lizard." I concluded.

I took the flashlight from Brenda and started to examine the body in more detail. The creature was dark green in colour. It had four limbs, the lower two of which ending in chunky bird-like talons, like the feet of some theropod dinosaur. Between them sat a thick, quivering tail, ending in a small stump, looking quite like the chitin-based shell of a beetle.

It had a long, snake-like neck that ended in an equally reptilian head. The upper jaw turned solid behind the nostril, like the beak of a bird. Above them sat two big, red, cat-like eyes, pupils heavily constricted in the glow of the flashlight. I noticed stray tears rolling down its scaly cheek.

But the things most distinguishable about this creature were the large, presumably-keratin bumps that appeared over the body's extremities. On its legs, arms, head and tail. They were like small, blunt blades, slightly darker in colour than the rest of the body.

I concluded that this creature was definitely not going to be found in the American Wildlife Encyclopedia.

"Is it some sort of anole?" Brenda asked speculatively.

"Does that look anything like an anole?" I snapped in frustration. She closed the book and put it to one side, seemingly reaching the same conclusion that I had.

"Well, what are we going to do with it?" She pressed.

I had no good answer. I put the gardening gloves back over my hands, eager to inspect the creature closer. Brenda clutched at my arm, signalling her disapproval at me handling the beast. I ignored her.

The creature wasn't too pleased as I lowered my gloves into the suitcase, retracting its limbs and backing away as far as possible until it was almost rolled into a ball in one corner. It froze as I started to poke and prod it. I was intrigued by the blade-like stumps on its arms and legs, so I held them, inspecting them. Brenda watched on curiously.

"Is it me, Steven, or is it crying?"

She was right. The tears I had noticed earlier were freely dripping from its eyes. It would whimper and whine as I moved my hand over its body, its eyes following the gloves every movement.

"Steven. Stop it." Brenda urged. I relented and pulled my hand away and out of the suitcase. Then there was another awkward pause.

"Coffee?" I asked.

"Please."

I wandered over to the kitchen and began to prepare coffee. Brenda stayed by the sofa, curiously watching the thing in the suitcase.

As I brewed the hot drinks, I began to ponder what needed to be done. Neither of us had any idea as to what the thing was, where it had come from, or what we should be doing with it. Everything was further complicated with the presence of heavily armed police officers patrolling outside.

I saw a flashlight hover in the distance from the kitchen window. I closed the curtains and sighed, holding the bridge of my nose between my finger and thumb. My body just wanted sleep right now, but I knew that this situation would have to be dealt with tonight.

Once the coffees were made, I brought them into the living room and sat them down on the table. Brenda was still gawking at the creature.

"So what are we going to do with it, Steven?" She asked again.

I sat down on the sofas armrest and rubbed at my face with both hands. "As far as I can see, we have three options. Option one, we put it back outside. We forget that we ever saw anything."

"We can't do that." She sighed. "You think it could last five minutes out there with all those armed police?"

I nodded. It was doubtful that the police would show it the same mercy that we did at first sighting. Nor did it seem likely that the creature was capable of protecting itself on its own, judging from its panicked and pathetic reactions when I started prodding it with a large gardening glove.

"Option two," I continued. "We hand it over to the authorities."

"I can't see that being any different to just leaving it out on its own." She retorted. "I wouldn't trust those cops out there with it, nor would I trust a vet to do anything except give it to some scientists to rip it open and take a look at its insides."

"I don't think it's really up to us, Brenda."

She huffed. "I don't want to kill the thing, and I don't want to give it to anyone who'll just destroy it."

"Then that's option three out as well." I rolled my eyes, annoyed and confused at her sudden empathy for the creature.

She played with the tips of her long brown hair and glared at me. "And did you not consider option four?"

"We are _not_ keeping it." I groaned.

"So what did you want to do, Steven? You want to go out there and hand over to some guy with an AK-47? Or did you want to kill it yourself? You could break its bones. It would be good practise for you, trying to put them back together."

"I'm not as heartless as maybe you think I am." I defended. Despite the familiar tone that this conversation was descending to, I was determined to keep this from being lowered into yet another argument. "Where would we keep it? _How_ would we keep it?"

She glanced back over to the suitcase. The creature inside was now silent. "Well, we can't leave it in there, that's for sure." She paused, mulling over the options. "How about the basement?"

I sighed deeply. "And then what?"

Brenda shrugged. "We keep it until we figure out how best to deal with it."

"We don't know anything about it, Brenda." I snapped. "It could be toxic, for all we know!"

"Oh, don't be stupid, Steven." She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips.

"We don't know. We've never seen anything like it before. It could be something conjured up by some deranged genetic experiment. It could be one of those demons your mother claimed to see on a daily basis." I said the last one rather more sarcastically.

She bent down and picked up the gardening gloves that I had used earlier.

"What are you doing, Brenda?" I seethed.

Her hands dropped into the suitcase, and after a brief scuffle, she lifted the writhing creature out and held it at arm's length, gazing at it.

"Put it down." I warned. "Brenda, that thing could be dangerous!"

She ignored me and continued to look curiously at the creature. She stared, and it stared back. It started to calm down as she held it under the shoulders, its flailing tail slowly drooping and relaxing. Soon, it was no longer cowering, and its curiosity took over, its eyes exploring the room, perplexed by its new surroundings.

Meanwhile, I was pulling at my hair and cursing under my breath, half expecting it to lash out. I drank some coffee in an attempt to calm down.

"It isn't _conventionally_ cute..." Brenda mused.

I shook my head, not really believing what was happening. "Brenda, put it down. Have you not noticed the sharp things sticking out of its arms and legs?"

She scoffed and looked back at the creature. "Don't listen to him. He's just being a 'cranky pants'." It replied with a squeak.

"Well, don't come crying when it starts gnawing at your neck and drinking your blood." I sipped from my coffee.

"It isn't a vampire, Steven."

"Oh, so you're an expert now. That's fortunate."

Brenda bent down and put the creature on the sofa, moving the suitcase to the side. It squirmed and curled up slightly, alert to what was happening around it. It stared at me for a while, but I diverted my eyes to my coffee.

"What do you think it eats?" Brenda asked me.

"Souls, perhaps?"

She sensed my lack of desire for cooperation, and stormed into the kitchen area. I heard the sound of the fridge being opened, and her hand searching through for loose food. I occasionally looked up from my coffee, exchanging awkward glances with the creature, which also seemed to sense my disapproval of this situation.

Brenda returned with a selection of foods on a large plastic tray. She knelt down in front of the creature and held up a small piece of chicken from the tray. The creature showed no interest and stared blankly into space.

After trying out every type of food on the tray, including meat, cheese, lettuce and even a cookie, Brenda gave up in a huff and returned the tray to the kitchen.

"I told you. It eats souls." I hummed. Brenda took no notice and drank her coffee.

It was then when the creature decided to explore. It crawled clumsily off of the sofa and wobbled around on the floor for a while, before waddling over to the television.

I gave Brenda a look of expectancy, and she guided the creature away from my precious television. Brenda silently acknowledged that this was now mostly her responsibility. This was mostly her decision.

An hour passed. I was sat in my favourite chair, finishing off my third coffee of the night, watching Brenda's new "pet" making a mess of our living room. She had been preparing the basement for its new resident by removing anything breakable, and putting in a couple of blankets and a bowl of water. If only she could give _me_ this much attention every so often…

"I hope our new _guest_ is temporary." I grumbled to her as she cleaned up her coffee mug.

"I sometimes say exactly the same about you." She countered without hesitation.

I grunted, used to such comebacks. "And have you thought of a name for it?" I meant it sarcastically, but unfortunately, she took it literally.

She looked down at the creature, who was investigating a footrest. "I had a few ideas…"

"You aren't seriously considering giving it a name, are you?"

She glared angrily. "Yes. I am. Is there a problem with that?"

"This isn't a pet, Brenda. I wouldn't start getting attached to it."

"No, you shouldn't, considering the misery you bring to everyone _you_ attach to."

I finished my coffee and put the mug down on the table, clasping my hands and leaning forward in my seat. "Okay then. How about Damien?"

"Oh, just shut up." She spat.

The creature sat up, lifted its beak-like snout into the air, and rose cautiously to its feet. Both I and Brenda watched curiously as it winded its way over to the corner of the room, which was occupied by a large household plant. It tumbled into the plant pot, and proceeded to tear off several branches.

I rose to my feet to voice my objections, but Brenda shushed me, and we continued to watch as the creature sat itself down by the plant pot, squeaked in delight, and began gnawing hungrily at the small collection of twigs it had gathered.

"It's destroying my plant!" I growled, not at all happy with the damage it was doing.

"Well, at least we know what it eats, now." Brenda compromised. "Twigs."

We continued to watch as it indulged itself on my beloved houseplant, tearing off the woody outer layers of the stems it had accumulated. Brenda was cooing in an unusual motherly manner, and I was still mourning the trimming of my once proud décor.

"Twig." Brenda considered. I turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Twig? Seriously?"

"It's better than Damien." She fizzled defensively.

"It's awful."

But it was too late. Brenda had made up her mind, and all I could do was admit defeat.

"Twig." She repeated.

"Twig." I reluctantly agreed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Wednesdays sucked almost as much as Mondays. In fact, if it weren't for the calendar that faced me from over my office desk, I don't think I would be able to tell the difference.

The first few hours dragged on like any normal workday. Five appointments scraped by, each more infuriating than the last, and by the time the sixth appointment came around, I was about ready to jump over the desk and strangle him, if it weren't for the great big cast in the way.

"I recommend an appointment with Dr Neville." I said, finishing up an advice slip and handing it to him. "I'll send a message to reception and they should be able to arrange another appointment for you."

"Can't I just see him now?" Mr Thompson demanded.

I held back a scream of frustration. "I'm afraid Dr Neville has a busy schedule. You'll need to wait a few days while he makes room for you."

"But what if I fall again in the next few days?" He whined.

"We can only hope." I muttered under my breath.

"Excuse me?"

I stood and reached forward to shake his hand. "I'll make sure that your appointment is as soon as possible, Mr Thompson."

He got up and completed the handshake. "Thank you very much, Dr Reynolds."

I helped him out of the door and closed it behind him. Thankfully, that was my last morning appointment, and I had an hour or so to sort through files and arrange further appointments.

Or I could go to the lounge and fall unconscious for an hour.

I decided that some clean-up was necessary, and I moved some files around, adjusted the items on my desk until the room looked slightly less like a nuclear disaster area. Dan always demanded clean offices. Maybe if I was chasing a raise, obeying such a minor order was probably a wise choice.

After that, I slinked off to the staff lounge and poured out a large coffee. The television that sat perched in the top left corner of the room was blaring. It was some daytime talk show where they brought on families or couples who wasted the only screen time they would ever get by shouting at each other, and generally making asses of themselves. The remote was nowhere to be seen, so I accepted that I would have to put up with it.

About five minutes into my well-earned break, Johnson strolled in.

"Morning, Reynolds." He greeted.

"Hey, Marty." I returned. "Just signed in?"

He nodded. "Yeah. No appointments for twenty minutes, though. I thought I would drop in for a coffee before the nightmare begins."

I sat forward and teased my coffee. Johnson finished brewing his own and seemed to be watching me curiously.

"You okay, Steven? You look a little…" He hesitated.

"Pissed off?"

"Shaken." He surmised. "Didn't get much sleep, huh?"

"Not a bit." I sighed, chugging back a huge gulp of my drink.

Johnson pondered for a moment, and then sat in the seat opposite to me. "Is it Brenda?"

"It's a lot of things, Marty. Not only is my marriage disintegrating, but I no longer enjoy my job, I no longer have any fun, and now we have…"

He raised an eyebrow as I paused. "What do you have?"

"We have armed cops patrolling outside of our house."

"Oh yeah! I was going to ask you about that. I heard that there was a big investigation in the woods where you lived."

"Yes." I sighed grumpily. "Before I came to work today, there was some guy with an automatic weapon stood on the opposite side of the road. He just… watched me."

Johnson looked troubled. "They say it was some drug bust. Didn't you ever notice anything suspicious?"

I shook my head. "I never saw anything. I never would have guessed that the woods in front of my house were home to some underground mafia base."

"That's why you couldn't sleep." Johnson summarised.

It was, for at least some part, true. The thought of stepping outside and getting turned into bullet-ridden Swiss cheese was something that had haunted me all night. I only hoped that the police investigation would be short-lived. "Yeah. That's why."

I diverted my attention to the television and watched as some family received a verbal battering from the eccentric host.

"You watch this crap?" Johnson scoffed, looking bemused.

"I can't find the remote." I mumbled.

Johnson sighed and put his coffee down, beginning a search for the lost remote. "I can't stand daytime television."

"Nobody can." I noted. "It's punishment for people who can't be bothered to get a job. They get stuck watching stuff like this."

Then something caught my interest. The host was addressing the family - some scruffy looking degenerates - about some affair that the father had with another woman. The tagline was what interested me:

_DNA evidence will prove that you really are my son._

Johnson returned and stood beneath it, holding up the remote. "Found it."

"Marty, wait…" I interrupted. He looked down at me.

I narrowed my eyes at the screen as the host went over the results of the DNA analysis, and I suddenly grabbed at an idea that floated through my head.

"How do you think they do that, Marty?" I asked him. He blinked at me suspiciously.

"How do they do what? Convince people to make fools of themselves on national television?"

"DNA tests." I said. "How do they do the DNA tests?"

He gazed up at the television and seemed more interested in why I wanted to know. "You have something you want to tell me?" He asked with the slightest smirk

"It's not like I have some kid of undetermined origins, Marty." I snorted, rolling my eyes. "I just want to know how they do it."

"Well, they get a DNA sample and… look at it? I don't know. I'm no expert in genetics" He shrugged and looked disinterested. "Can I change the channel now?"

"Sure."

The rest of the day went a little smoother than usual. The patients were a little more patient, and the file work felt more like normal work, rather than the drawn-out death sentence that it used to feel like. My mind was too busy thinking about DNA tests to really dwell on the negatives that surrounded me.

When my work hours were done, I stuck around a little while longer. I ventured to the other end of hospital, to a small laboratory on the top floor.

I knocked on the door and was swiftly invited in. Dr David Yates, an older man, was stood over several test tubes. He wore a long, stained lab coat, thick spectacles, and his grey hair had receded to leave his head bald on top.

He smiled as I politely entered through the door. "Steven! What can I do for you?"

We went over the general pleasantries that started most normal conversations. I watched as he occasionally added chemicals to test tubes, placed colourful beakers in large whirring machines and typed complicated notes into large computer spread sheets.

"Listen, David. I came here to ask a favour."

"Sure, Steven." He gleamed his usual welcoming smile. "Whatever you need."

"Could you possibly do some DNA analysis for me?"

He stared at me questionably. "What kind of DNA?"

I hesitated, not altogether willing to tell where I would be getting a sample. "It's, uh…. It's a hamster." What else could I say?

Well, pretty much anything. Too late now, though.

"A hamster…" He muttered in disbelief. "And why, may I ask, do you want me to analyse its DNA?"

I spoke the first thing that sprung to my mind. Perhaps I shouldn't have. "I want to know who the father is."

David stared at me like I was a man just released from the mental institute. In fairness, I felt like one. "You want to know the hamster's father…"

I shrugged and searched my mind for an excuse. "It's Brenda's idea."

"Of course." It was plainly obvious that he didn't believe me, but he grudgingly continued. "Okay, Steven. I can do the analysis for you for the right price. You just need to bring some skin or hair samples from each hamster to me. I'll perform the necessary magic and you'll have whatever strange answer you want."

I nodded, but then I hesitated. "Wait, each hamster?"

"Yes, each hamster. I would need the DNA of the hamster in question, and each possible parent."

I had not really thought this through. Maybe I should have paid more attention in Biology class. "Well, I only have the one hamster."

"Then I'm afraid I can't help you find the father of your hamster." David said glumly.

I looked down at my feet, feeling a little defeated.

David leaned against his workstation and tipped his large spectacles. "What is it you _really_ want, Steven?"

"You mean you didn't fall for the hamster story?" I sighed, feeling like even more of a buffoon. "Okay, I suppose I should tell you. I found something in the woods yesterday. Brenda and I can't figure out what it is."

Now David looked intrigued, narrowing his eyes. "What does it look like?"

"Nothing I've ever seen before."

"I see." He said. "Well, if you bring a sample, I could check it for matches on an online database. I could find out the species for you." A smile appeared on his face. "Doubtful I could track down the real father though."

"I'm sure I can deal without. Thanks, David."

He reached into a cupboard below his workstation and withdrew a small plastic tube. Then he took a marker pen and wrote down a few numbers and symbols on the side. "Put the sample in this tube. Do not mix it with anything. Make sure the lid is tightly secured, and then bring it back to me. It will take me a few weeks or months, but I will get back to you with your answer."

"Weeks or months?" I asked, sounding unnervingly similar to one of my own patients. "Does it really take that long?"

"I have priorities, Steven." He huffed. "If I find the time, I will do it, but I'm a busy man, and it is not a simple process. If it is as interesting as you imply, however, I'll get it done as soon as time allows." He smiled warmly, and I smiled back.

"I think you'll be very interested." I assured as I took the small tube and placed it in my pocket before heading to the door. "Thanks, David. I'll see you soon."

He sent me off with a wave and went back to working on his line of test tubes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 **

I returned home a little later than usual. The Sun was fast approaching the horizon and dipping below the trees as I pulled the car into the driveway, having driven the extra few miles around the police border. I retrieved my briefcase and my coat, but before I could make my way inside the house, the sound of feet shuffling over fallen litter breached my senses. I turned to see the armed officer, stood at the exact same spot that I had seen him in this morning. His cold eyes followed me as I circled my car.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I approached him. "Is there a problem, officer?" I asked, sounding perhaps a little more bitter than I wanted to show.

"No problems, sir." The bulky officer responded. He was nearly a clear foot taller than I was with a face like steel. I decided against provoking him, and kept our conversation civil.

"Is there any particular reason you have been watching our house all day?" I questioned.

"It's just a precaution, sir." He stated robotically. "I am here to ensure your safety."

I narrowed my eyes. "Safety from what?"

"That is classified information, sir." His expressionless face showed little for me to work on.

"Classified, huh?" I crossed my arms, trying to assert some authority. "I think I have a right to know why I have an officer with an automatic weapon stood outside of my house. Haven't you arrested all the bad guys yet? Are you protecting us from raccoons high on meth now?"

"If you have any issues, sir, you will have to take them up with the sheriff." He sneered.

"Yes. I think I'll do just that." I huffed. With that, I let him be, and took my things into the house.

Brenda had already arrived and was beginning preparations for tonight's dinner. By the looks of it, we were having chicken. I got rid of my works things and performed my usual routine of planting myself onto the sofa and switching on the television.

"Would it be rude of me to ask you to do something useful, Steven?" Brenda pressed from the kitchen.

"Like what?" I groaned, unwilling to move.

"Moving these damn files off of the cooking surface would be a good start."

I reluctantly obeyed and returned to the kitchen to rid the surfaces of my stray files. I should have been used to it by now, considering that this specific series of events had occurred near enough every day for the past five years.

"How was work?" I uttered whilst dumping the stack of papers on a free surface.

"A little better." She sighed, slicing up a carrot. "I didn't have any bosses screaming down my ear, and only five customers abused me over the phone."

After clearing up my stuff, I caught a glimpse out of the kitchen window to see the armed officer again. He was staring right at me.

I felt a sudden chill up my spine and I quickly diverted my gaze to the floor. "Brenda?"

"Yes, Steven?"

"That officer across the road… He's been stood there all day."

She seemed to sense the tension in my voice. "I know. I tried to talk to him earlier. He says he's here to "protect us.""

"That's exactly what he just said to me. Now he's staring at us through the windows."

Brenda turned with a raised eyebrow, and then she moved to the window to investigate for herself. "You're right, he is." She granted him a middle finger, then closed the blinds.

I couldn't help but smile at her reaction. "You just flipped off an armed man. Brave."

"What's he going to do? Arrest me?"

I shook my head and sighed deeply. "I get the feeling that it was more than just a drugs raid."

She shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. He didn't give me any information."

"I'll phone the authorities later. See if I can get to the bottom of this. We can't have G.I. Joe standing there all night watching us through all the windows."

Brenda returned to her workstation. "You think they're after Twig, don't you."

It was a thought that had crossed my mind several times today. The creature's appearance on the night that the police had arrived was enough of a coincidence. "It's possible." I sighed, feeling strangely uncomfortable talking about it. "I'll talk to the police chief tonight. Depending on what he says, we may have to give the thing up."

She nodded, and a defeated look spread over her face. My hand reached down into my pocket, and I pulled out the small plastic tube I had been given.

"David gave me this." I said, showing the tube to her. "I thought we should get a DNA test done for it. If it stays, I want to find out exactly what it is, and where it came from."

Her eyes focused on the tube, and she took it in her hand. "How would you do that?"

"We'll need to take a skin sample. I'll give it to David, and he'll put it through a bunch of machines and computers to find out its species. Don't ask me how it all works, because I don't know, but I trust him."

She seemed to accept the idea. "We'll do it after dinner."

Dinner was often eaten in near-silence. We usually avoided talking about work or about our personal lives, and there was never anything else to talk about. Sometimes we ate separately. But tonight, there was much to discuss. We acknowledged each other's paranoia of the armed officers that patrolled our house. We talked about our new resident.

We discussed our upcoming anniversary. That was a depressingly brief talk.

Once dinner was finished, the plates were all cleaned up, and some other minor chores were completed, we made our way down into the basement.

Brenda had left the lights on since this morning, and the single light bulb in the centre of the ceiling gently illuminated the small, grey room. There was a washing machine and an old chest of drawers lined against the far wall, and various other broken or ancient appliances were messily dotted around the floor. The room was cold, but Brenda had brought down a small heater earlier which was slowly giving the basement a more bearable temperature. A small bowl of water sat beside a pile of blankets in the corner beside the washing machine.

"What kind of sample do we need, again?" Brenda queried.

I shrugged as we approached the pile of blankets. "I think we should pull off a scale." I reached into the chest of drawers and searched through the maze of power tools and nails for something to make the job a little easier.

Eventually, I found a small pair of tweezers, just as the doorbell rang from upstairs. I handed the tweezers and the plastic tub to Brenda and left to see who was outside.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" I moaned as the doorbell rang again. I opened it and came face to face with a short, stumpy officer. He wore a police chief's badge. "Oh, hello officer."

"Good evening, sir." The man with the bushy moustache spoke in a raspy, throaty voice. "Police Chief Harris." He held out his hand to shake and I duly shook it. "I'm here to discuss the investigation. I'm sure you have noticed it."

"It has crossed my mind, yes." I glanced over the police chief's shoulder to notice that the armed officer was still there, still staring directly at my home. "I noticed the armed guys."

Harris followed the direction of my stare. "Ah, yes. I hope you understand that it is for your own safety."

"I'm afraid I don't understand." I said, holding back my anger. "What is it we're being protected from, exactly?"

He turned back to face me. "My men are stationed here to watch over the investigation, and to ward off criminal accomplices who wish to hide evidence…" He blinked at a small notepad in his hands. "… Mr Reynolds. We apologise for the disturbance, but it is a necessary precaution in such an investigation." A smile appeared from beneath his bushy grey moustache. "May I come in, Mr Reynolds?"

I hesitated and looked back, into the corridor. The door to the basement was still open. "Uh… Sure! Please come in, officer."

I made sure to guide him towards the kitchen area, casually closing the basement door as I passed. The chief entered the kitchen, and I pulled up a seat for him to rest his portly frame in. "Would you care for a drink, officer? Coffee?"

It was perhaps a stupid decision to allow him into the house while Brenda was tending to the creature in the basement, but I didn't want to raise Harris' suspicions. He nodded to my question, and I began pouring some coffee.

"How long do you expect to keep up the investigation?" I asked him, genuinely curious.

He sat back, causing the chair to creak dangerously beneath him. He placed his hat on the table. "We are packing our equipment away as we speak, Mr Reynolds. We will be gone by the morning."

I set the coffee down by his hat and took the seat opposite his. "Oh, that's good news. I was starting to think you'd be here forever." I attempted to get a chuckle. It seemed to work.

"No need to worry, Mr Reynolds. As I said, it is necessary procedure. We have tried our best to avoid disturbing your household. I hope that there have been no issues concerning my men." He wrapped his fingers around the mug. "Oh, and thanks for the coffee."

My hands clasped on the table in front of me. "Actually, I and my wife were a little concerned about the man placed in front of our house. He's a little too… watchy."

Harris nodded. "I shall speak to him. We don't mean to make you feel awkward."

The conversation continued in much the same manner. The police chief seemed very apologetic for the police presence in front of our house, and I soon felt convinced that our paranoia was simply that: paranoia. He detailed me on a few of the more public details of what had been going on, and assured me that the area was now safe.

Then the conversation shifted again to something that made me sweat just a little bit.

"This is a lovely little place you have, Mr Reynolds. I always wanted to live somewhere like this. Somewhere out of the way." He smiled.

"It has its benefits." I stated.

"You must get a lot of animals around here, as well. A good place for hunting." He slurped at his coffee and then let loose a small huff of laughter. "One of my officers told me about some lizard he claimed to see a couple of days ago. A really big lizard, he said. I told him he was just imagining it, of course." His face grew more serious. "You haven't seen anything strange, have you, Mr Reynolds?"

I paused, unsure of what to say. Should I reveal the creature in the basement?

No. I feared Brenda's wrath more than I feared lying to a police officer.

I smiled. "Apart from my wife's cooking?"

We exchanged a laugh, Harris' serious gaze loosening.

"No." I continued. "I haven't seen anything strange."

Harris accepted the lie and finished off his drink. "Good."

There was a sudden bang as a door opened in the hallway. I bent to look over Harris' shoulder in time to see Brenda marching towards to kitchen, the small creature buried, curled up in her arms. She noticed my eyes widening, and she also noticed the chief, whose back was fortunately turned towards her. She darted behind the nearest corner, just as Harris twisted to see where the noise had come from.

"What was that?" He asked, shuffling to get a better view.

I got up from my seat, now eager to see him leave. "Oh, just the wife doing her chores."

He joined me in getting up from his seat, quickly dismissing my wife's appearance. "Well, I had better be going now. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr Reynolds."

"Thank you for explaining the situation, chief. We appreciate the help." We shook hands and I led him to the front door.

He stepped outside onto the drive and turned back to face me. "No need to worry about my men anymore. We'll be gone by tomorrow morning. And, Mr Reynolds?"

"Yes, chief?"

"If you see anything strange around, be sure to give the station a call."

"Do my wife's friends count?"

"I'm afraid not, sir." He grinned and soon departed. I closed the door behind him and breathed a big sigh of relief.

Brenda reappeared moments later, carrying the creature into the living room. "What was all that about?" She shouted over her shoulder to me.

I followed her and sat beside her on the sofa. "That was the police chief. He says they're finishing up the investigation tonight. They'll be gone by morning."

She stared down at the green bundle of limbs in her arms. It was asleep. "That's good."

The plastic tube and the tweezers were laying on the arm rest beside her. She had not yet taken a sample. I reached over and took the instruments, unscrewing the lid of the plastic tub and taking the tweezers in my right hand.

"Be careful, Steven." Brenda warned, but I didn't care. This thing had caused enough trouble already, and I wasn't in the best of moods.

I squeezed the tip of the tweezers around one of the larger scales on the creature's tail and yanked as hard as I could. The creature jerked awake and let loose a gut-wrenching scream as I tore away the scale and dropped it carefully into the plastic tube.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The chief kept his promise, and by the next morning, the armed officers and the police tape had vanished. Apart from Brenda's new pet, things had finally returned to normal.

On the day the police left, I dropped off the creature's scale in David's laboratory. He was not around at the time, so I left the plastic tube on a desk where I thought he would be likely to find it.

I didn't hear from him over the next couple of days, but it didn't really matter. I was enjoying a quiet weekend where I wasn't glued to the dinner table sorting through appointments and patient files. I actually had some time to myself. Almost, anyway.

Brenda was free for the weekend as well, and we spent Saturday roaming the mall in town, looking for ways to waste our well-earned money when it could have been better used elsewhere. Her father was showing small signs of recovery in the hospital, and so Brenda decided to treat herself to new lipsticks, shoes, and whatever else that women feel compelled to buy.

Sunday came quickly, and we had nothing planned. The weather had taken a turn for the worst, pouring with rain, with the weatherman predicting it would continue into next week.

That didn't stop Brenda from sending me outside to collect sticks.

I returned after two hours, pushing open the front door with a hand full of cold, dirty sticks. My clothes were soaked, dripping water heavily onto the doormat.

"Is it still raining?" Brenda asked.

"No, Brenda. I thought I would take a detour through the car wash." I grumbled, dropping my stick collection into a designated basket by the staircase. "Couldn't that thing eat something more appropriate? How about cheeseburgers?"

She ignored my bitter remarks and took the basket into the living room. I relieved myself of the soaked clothes and changed into something warmer, before returning to set myself down in front of the living room TV.

Brenda had dropped the basket full of sticks beside the sofa, and the creature was already busy gorging itself, ignoring my presence completely. It still seemed a little bitter since I almost ripped its tail off the other day, and my unwillingness to really bond with it didn't help either.

I didn't really want to bond with it anyway. It kind of freaked me out.

However, it received an undue amount of attention from Brenda, who was almost obsessive over its well-being. I didn't quite understand it. The creature wasn't exactly cute or cuddly, and Brenda had even been accidentally cut a few times by its vicious blades. Maybe it had simply awoken her maternal side.

I was busy watching the Sunday football game when I felt something tug at my jeans. Two big red eyes were gazing curiously up at me. The creature had obviously finished its meal and needed someone to annoy.

"Brenda? Could you tend to this please?" I summoned to the kitchen where she was making herself busy.

She leaned against the wall that separated the two rooms, munching on an apple. "You're a grown man. _You_ tend to it."

"It's _your_ demon pet, Brenda. Your responsibility."

"I think you two need to start bonding." She smiled deviously and walked over. Putting her apple to one side, she picked up the creature under the armpits and dropped it carefully into my lap. One of the blades on its left leg dug uncomfortably into my thigh.

"Ow! The little…" I seethed, but the creature adjusted to a more comfortable position and smiled goofily up at me.

Yes, the thing smiles. It's kind of creepy.

"See? She likes you!" Brenda cooed.

I raised an eyebrow, keeping my stare fixed on the creature in case it decided to slit my throat with one of those wicked blades on its wrists, "It has a gender now?"

"I had a gut feeling." She grumbled, frustrated at my continually sarcastic tone.

"It must have poisoned you." I commented. "You mean you actually went to the trouble of… checking?"

"No. You could check for yourself if you want."

"I'd rather not." I said, grimacing at the beast on my lap. "Maybe it's a hermaphrodite."

Brenda shrugged and sat down beside me. The creature instantly decided that Brenda's lap would be more welcoming and crawled over, though not without digging its claws in dangerously close to my groin.

For a while, and much to my annoyance, Brenda thought it was a good idea to play a few baby games with the creature. It was both disturbing and sort of sweet to watch as Brenda indulged in a game of peek-a-boo. The creature seemed curiously child-like, laughing in its unusual way whenever Brenda would reveal herself from behind her hands.

I was slowly beginning to develop an interest in its reactions. The way it sounded and the way it moved. It was almost like a human child, if you ignored the fact that it was green, scaly and covered in dangerous blades.

I even found myself counting the blades. There were three blades on each arm, two on each leg, two on the tail and three on the head. In just the few days that it had been living here, its blades had grown and sharpened, and its overall height had increased by about an inch or two. This brought an obvious question to my mind.

"How big is this thing going to grow?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You know, I never thought of that." Then she paused in thought.

"Those blades are getting pretty big, Brenda. I'm not sure if I you should be handling it so carelessly."

"Twig isn't going to hurt me, Steven." She growled, rubbing her fingers over its elbow blade. "At least, not on purpose."

"An accident could be just as bad as an attack." I warned. "Especially if it continues growing."

Brenda shrugged it off and continued disturbing the silence with her high-pitched baby talk to the creature, which seemed mildly amused. "Don't worry Twig. He's just being Mr Cranky Pants again. Isn't he Twig? Isn't he Twig?!"

"Wig!" It chirped.

We froze and stared wide-eyed at it.

Brenda stammered, look to me, back to Twig, and then back to me again. "Did she just…?"

I simply shrugged, taken aback by its outburst.

Brenda regained herself and stared hard at it. "Twig? Say your name, Twig. Twig." I noticed a slight grin on her face that seemed to want to appear, but she was just managing to hold it back.

The creature cocked its head and contemplated for a moment, before it barked again in its guttural tone. "Wig!"

Both I and Brenda couldn't quite believe what we were hearing, and we stared at each other for what seemed like minutes, just as the grin that had threatened to appear shone brightly on Brenda's face.

The next few minutes consisted of Brenda repeatedly encouraging Twig to say its name. Nearly, anyway. It seemed to struggle with 'T's', but the utterance of the most part of its name was a major revelation for Brenda. For me, it simply increased my curiosity, and for those few minutes I was fixated on it. I didn't know quite how to react.

Brenda eventually calmed down, but the grin remained on her face. "She talks, Steven! She talks!"

"I know." I said, showing little enthusiasm.

She gazed down at me, still holding the confused Twig in her arms. "You don't seem very surprised about it, Steven."

"I am." I assured her. "I just… I mean… What the hell _is_ that thing?"

Brenda's grin loosened as she appeared to snap back to reality. Her eyes focused on Twig, and she muttered, "It's a mystery."

The following weeks went by smoother than I had imagined they would. Brenda's composure and mood had improved dramatically, as had my own. I had started plans for our five year anniversary, something that, just a couple of weeks ago, I presumed would pass by almost unnoticed, but Twig's arrival had somehow distracted our attentions from each other, and the new focus helped us cooperate more effectively. In dragging us apart, it had brought us closer together.

Twig continued to grow at an alarming rate, and in just those few weeks, its head stood level with my pelvis. Its blades, worryingly, grew as well, but Brenda was too attached to it now for me to even consider asking her to give it up. And even I had started to bond with it.

Its range of vocabulary was what shocked us the most. We would never have imagined that a lizard-blender hybrid could utter anything other than a mindless grunt, but it could now speak about twenty words fluently. Granted, they were all monosyllabic, but it was a damn fine start.

David had not gotten back to me yet on the sample I had sent in, and since finding out that Twig could speak, I sensed that any analysis he performed would mean nothing. Brenda and I felt certain that this creature was not something that would be found on any DNA database system, or anything even similar.

Brenda thought that maybe the creature had come from somewhere in outer space. Of course, that was a ridiculous suggestion.

Twig was now allowed to roam the house as it pleased. That was not my decision, but Brenda couldn't stand hearing the continuous whining that occurred whenever we put it back in the basement. It was still never allowed to venture outside, however, and we were adamant that it never would be, despite its protests.

Letting Twig roam around the house kept it happy, but this also had its downsides. I bore several cuts where there had been accidental collisions around the house. We had decided about a week ago to file down the blades on its arms and legs to make them a little less sharp, and this had helped slightly, but didn't stop the occasional scrape from cropping up. However, the biggest downside was when Twig would sneak into our bed during the middle of the night. I would wake at 3 o'clock in the morning, feel something tug against my pyjamas, and look down to see its lizard head poking up out of the blankets between us. It was something straight out of a nightmare. Brenda thought it was adorable. I thought it was dangerous. Thankfully, Brenda agreed, and she tried her best to encourage Twig not to enter our bed with us from then on.

Twig's blankets and water bowl were moved into the living room, and its food basket was beginning to fill with bigger and bigger sticks. We had since accepted that we could no longer have friends or family come to visit us, and we would instead have to travel every time we wished to socialise. Neither one of us really cared about that.

It was the night before our anniversary, and the three of us were sat in front of the television watching some dreadful game show. It was strange after the last year of so to be sat in a comfortable silence, watching awful programmes together like a normal married couple. There was still the occasional argument of course, but there definitely wasn't as many as before. We were still not what would be considered a happy couple, and we sat a distance apart on the sofa, but things were getting much better.

I was leaning against my armrest, and Twig was curled up against Brenda, eyes still blinking and focused with great interest on the television. The game show soon came to a close, and the commercials began.

The commercials were Twig's favourite aspect of television. It perked up as a familiar beer commercial popped onto the screen.

"Beer!" Twig alerted us.

Brenda gazed at me suspiciously. "You taught her _beer_?"

"No, I didn't. Twig learns more from these commercials now than it does from us." I stated. "If Twig were to learn words from me, its entire vocabulary would be made up of Eat, Sleep and Misery."

"Sleep?" Twig asked, sounding disappointed.

"Yes, Twig." Brenda cooed. "I suppose it's time for you to go to sleep."

Twig released a throaty grunt and pulled itself from the sofa after a brief (and careful) hug from Brenda. It slithered past the table and collapsed messily onto the blankets. "Sleep." It concurred.

Brenda followed and tucked Twig cosily into the pile of blankets. Then she faced me, a warm smile residing on her face. I smiled back. It was one of those warm moments that we had been dearly missing over the last year or so.

Twig shuffled in the blankets and his slit-pupil eyes gazed sleepily up at me. "Sleep."

"Goodnight, Twig." I felt compelled to say. Then I too rose to my feet and walked into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water.

"You know what?" Brenda began, following me into the kitchen. "I'm actually looking forward to tomorrow."

"What's important about tomorrow?" I joked, grinning to make it obvious.

"Did you book the table at the restaurant?" She enquired, ignoring my poor attempt at humour.

"I booked it this morning."

"Good. I'm going to bed. Are you coming up soon?"

I nodded. "I'll be up soon." With that, she left for bed, leaving me in the kitchen stood over my glass of water.

My mind wandered for a while, quietly summing up the events that had transpired recently. Things with Brenda may have gotten a little better these last couple of weeks, but there was still a definite tension whenever we brought up conversations of work or our financial position. Her father may have shown signs of slight recovery, but we all knew that his days were numbered, and that his death would be the real test of our relationship, no matter how many anniversary meals we could tolerate out of some mutual politeness. Twig had merely provided a buffer, and allowed us to connect on a more indirect level.

For now though, the future was just that little bit brighter, and I was going to treasure that as much as possible before all hell broke loose.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

I had booked us a two-person table at one of the fancier restaurants on the west side of town. It was often busy, but it never too crowded, and I had arranged to have us sit on one of the more pleasantly situated tables that stared out over the sea through a glass wall.

It was busy there today, but it was a pleasant, comfortable sort of busy. We were welcomed with a smile and brought to our expensive-looking table by a well-groomed French waiter.

Our menus were given to us after we were sat down, but we were soon distracted as a large bottle of champagne and two glasses were delivered, assumedly a gesture to customers on anniversary visits. It was poured out for us to taste, and once the waiter had received our approval, he filled the glasses and left.

It was not often that I was pampered like this. Brenda and I only rarely went out to restaurants, the last time being our previous anniversary. My latest restaurant visit was a stag party for one of my hospital peers, and even then it was a scummy little restaurant on the bad side of the mall.

Tonight had to be something a little special to ease the tension between us. Perhaps getting drunk on champagne would be a good start.

Brenda was admiring the view. The Sun was teasing the edge of the horizon, throwing roads of golden reflection over the calm waters past the beach. She spotted a bird of prey hovering overheard, drifting gracefully in the direction of the mountains.

"It's beautiful." She breathed.

"I thought you would enjoy a sea view." I said, treating myself to a few sips of champagne.

We ordered some dangerously expensive food, coupled with luxurious desserts and preceded by unusual and exotic starters. I mourned the great expense, and knew that ordering an extra side of duck liver pate would be nothing more than a desperate show that reigniting our relationship was worth more than money.

But money was not a triviality nowadays, and trying pathetically to impress Brenda by throwing it away for the sake of a few polite smiles was something that pained me.

Despite my concerns, I was determined to enjoy this evening, and to sit down with Brenda for a couple of hours without starting another argument. Besides, neither one of us really wanted to start shouting in such an establishment. Things would be kept civil.

By the time the starters had arrived, we had settled into a meaningless conversation about Twig, the only thing that really didn't cost money in our lives. Of course, we kept our voices a little lower than usual to avoid people taking too much notice.

"Are you sure it was wise to let it free around the house unsupervised while we're out?" I asked.

"Would you stop worrying so much, Steven?" She huffed in reply. "Honestly, all you seem to do is worry about everything."

"I'm just concerned." I defended, slinking behind my champagne glass.

She sighed and finished her starter. "Look, I know that we're going through a bit of a… stressful period. But obviously you can afford this meal tonight, and we've been able to pay the living costs. Well, barely... Things aren't as bad as you think."

There went my hopes of not discussing our financial issues tonight.

"And how do you expect us to pay for your father?" I choked a little. This was territory I had been determined not to enter.

"You mean his funeral?" She concluded. "We don't have to spend too much for that."

I paused, feeling guilty. "We shouldn't be talking about this now."

"Well, when else are you going to talk about these things?" She glared. "We hardly see each other, and the only times we're home together, we're either looking after Twig, or you're too _tired_ to discuss anything."

I was willing to compromise. "I can make some more time if you wanted. These things need to be discussed. We just can't do it here. Not tonight."

She bit her lip and averted her gaze. "Steven, I talked to Rodriguez, my boss, today."

I perked up, putting down a chunk of my starter that was headed for my mouth. "And?"

"He's been running low on staff, and he needs to ration out the extra hours."

I closed my eyes and breathed heavily. "You're getting extra work hours."

"He's also promised to increase my wage, Steven." She squeaked, as if it would make me feel better.

I grew angry, though not necessarily towards her. "So now what? Am I not going to see you at all until the weekends?"

She shook her head. "I'll be working Saturdays as well."

"Great…" I mourned, rubbing at my temples. I pushed my starter aside, no longer in the mood for it. "Just great."

"I'm sorry, Steven." She whispered. "But we could do with the money."

My hands instinctively pressed my glass to my lips, and I welcomed the comfort of the alcohol. She was right that we needed the money, but what would this means for us as a married couple? We always thought that our relationship problems were partly caused by spending so much time away from each other. Now it seemed as if we would have to spend _even more_ time away from each other. It felt like some metaphorical final blow.

I wanted to make her reconsider. I wanted her to give Rodriguez a large middle finger and tell him just where he could stick his extra work hours. But I knew deep down that without the extra income, her father's funeral and steadily increasing fuel prices would eventually cause us major difficulties. We may have to move again, perhaps into some grubby flat in the city. We wouldn't be able to afford small luxuries such as this fancy restaurant meal. Twig… I didn't even know what would happen to Twig.

My mind clung to the idea of a promotion. Perhaps a desperate (yet dignified) appeal to Dan could earn me a raise and a job that didn't solely require making X-ray and bandaging appointments to irritating patients. My skills and education in osteology could be put to a much greater use for a much better pay. I was wasted in my current office job.

I discussed this in detail with Brenda over our main meal, and tried my best to sound optimistic, which didn't quite come naturally. She would nod and agree with my plans, but I could tell that she was still troubled.

Thankfully, the more champagne we drank, the lighter the conversations became. We deliberately moved on from the awkward conversations about our future and focused on the past. We reminisced of old times, both before we were shackled and the couple of years afterwards when we still held that spark. Times when we would travel hand-in-hand to places we had never seen before. Times when we would do things together that we had never done on our own. We even talked (quietly) about the time that we made love on my office desk during my lunch hour.

The evening ended better than it had started, and we left the restaurant in the pitch black, full of food and ready to return home for a small glass of wine and a good night's sleep. A taxi had been called to escort us home.

We returned just past 10 o'clock. We'd had enough champagne to make us giddy, but we were still sober enough to pay the taxi driver without any issues and walk the last few yards to the front door without tripping over bumps in the road or outstanding tree roots.

I unlocked the door and barged my way in, closely followed by Brenda who instantly started sniffing out Twig.

"Glass of wine?" I offered. She agreed, and I headed for the kitchen. I took a half-full bottle of wine from the rack beside the fridge and searched for two glasses.

As I walked past the opening in the wall to the living room, I caught sight of Twig sat in front of the sofa. Before it was a mangled block of wood.

A mangled block of wood?

I searched the nearest windowsill and felt my throat tighten as I noticed Brenda's treasured clock missing.

Twig noticed my presence and shot me a big cheerful grin, as if it had done nothing wrong. A small rectangular piece of wood was clutched in its reptilian claws.

Brenda entered the kitchen. "Have you seen Twig?" She asked.

"I… Twig… Maybe he's upstairs." I stuttered, trying to divert her movement back into the corridor.

She forcefully pushed past me. "I've checked upst-" Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She simply froze in place.

Twig's wholesome grin faltered and morphed to a look of confusion. Brenda snapped from her frozen state with a shriek and dropped forward to the clock's remains scattered on the floor, picking up one or two pieces and bursting into tears.

I snapped right then, and marched to the confused beast that sat beside Brenda's mourning body. Twig stared up at me, still in a state of confusion, and I grabbed it by the base of the tail and practically threw it across the room towards its blankets.

"You stay there!" I bellowed at it, and then I was down by Brenda's side. She was gradually pulling loose pieces of wood into a pile before her knees. Tears dripped onto the main bulk of the clock, which was decorated haphazardly with chew marks. Half of the roof of the clock had been completely torn off, and the main body had been vigorously scratched, splinters and little pieces of wood hanging off and dropping to the floor.

I shook my head in anger and fetched the dustpan and brush from under the sink to mop up the loose splinters. I collected up all that I could find and placed them on the dinner table, sighing and rubbing at my temples. Brenda needed a little space to get most of the tears out of the way, and when they started to slow, I helped her up off the floor and embraced her closely, letting her rest her head on my shoulder.

"It's alright, Brenda," I whispered. "It's alright."

Together we took the main box of the clock and the loose roof and placed them on the dinner table with the rest of the loose bits. Brenda sat herself uneasily in one of the chairs and sat staring at the broken clock, tears still rolling down her cheek. I sat beside her and investigated the clock for damage. Most of it was simply scratching of the wooden surface, the occasional appearance of teeth marks on the edges where the roof section was removed. The roof section itself was damaged where it had been ripped from the body. Thankfully, and perhaps miraculously, the clock face and the mechanics inside were pretty much untouched.

The once proud and attractive clock had gone through a disastrous facelift.

Twig had not reappeared. That was probably a wise decision, on its part. Throwing it across the room by its tail may have been harsh, but I was certain that the message was made clear.

We shouldn't have left it on its own for so long, and now we had paid the consequence. I heard it whine from the other room, either out of pain from being thrown or by the shock of outburst of anger that I had unleashed upon it, but I didn't care. My wife's tears meant a whole lot more to me right then.

Brenda's tears began rolling more vigorously again as she rubbed her fingertips down the roughened sides of the clock. I removed myself from my seat and embraced her once again, providing her a shoulder to cry on. After a few sobs, she turned and wrapped her arms around me, and we stood in a prolonged hug.

"We'll take it to a specialist." I assured her over her shoulder. "It isn't unfixable."

She replied with another sob and held me even tighter.

I gasped at first as she gripped me around my stomach, her hands held firmly against my shoulder blades. It was unusual, and at that moment I came to the realisation that we had not embraced like this once in over a year.

I had missed this feeling. This closeness. I found myself smiling.

"We'll get it fixed."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Two years had passed.

Many things stayed unchanged. I remained in the same dull hospital office, and Brenda was still struggling with excessive hours typing away at computers and phoning unwilling customers somewhere deep in the town. We were still clinging on to our marriage, despite the depressing lack of time spent in each other's company. We put it down to dependency on our incomes and our willingness to keep a hold of our home on the outskirts of the woods.

I never really got the courage to talk to Dan about a raise. I tried my best to appeal to him without sucking-up, but Brenda was right, the man was amazingly stingy, and nothing I did could garner his sympathy for my cause. He knew of our difficulties, but was unwilling to hand out just that little bit more money to help us through the rough patch. Brenda had threatened to "discuss" it with him, but I'd had enough first-hand experience with an angry Brenda to know that no man, no matter how uncompromising, deserved such an oral obliteration.

So we saw each other briefly for six days of the week, perhaps an hour or two per day, whilst we were both away from work. It was only Sundays, when we were both home all day, that stopped us from becoming complete strangers. However, Brenda was often too exhausted to go out anywhere, and she would spend most of the day doing minor chores and reading dreadful women's magazines.

With our combined income, we were able to pay all our bills without trouble. We were also able to pay for Brenda's father's funeral. He had passed away the previous year after his long fight with cancer. With the extra money coming in from Brenda's new role at the office, we were able to afford a fitting funeral; one worthy of her father's bravely fought battle.

Just as importantly, his death was not the end of our marriage, as we predicted. We had found other things to keep us knotted together.

Brenda's beloved clock that her mother left behind had been fixed. The week after it had been destroyed, I had taken it a specialist in town to get the roof section reattached and the chew marks smoothed out, or new bits of wood integrated into the bodywork. The specialist was curious as to the origin of the strange teeth marks, but we managed to convince him that the clock was attacked by a stray dog. At least, he gave us the impression that he was convinced.

The clock, still looking very slightly worn, was back on its old perch, standing proud over the living room once again.

But of all the things that had changed over the last two years, Twig was the one that had changed the most. We never really knew how big it would become, and during its first year here, it had a major growth spurt. Thankfully, that spurt slowed and had recently come to a stop. Twig now stood at about seven feet tall when standing on two legs. This became an issue when Twig had to find somewhere to sleep, but nowadays it usually lies down in front of the sofa during the night. When lying flat, its length is even greater, and from tip to tail, Twig almost connected the walls on either side of the room. It made for a good footrest in the mornings before work, though.

The blades over its body had continued to grow to unnerving sizes, and we had to resort to filing them blunt to avoid accidental losses of limbs. The three blades that used to be stumps on its head swooped forward into large green horns that had left the odd dent in the ceiling where Twig had stood up too fast.

However, despite its rather fearsome appearance, Twig was an extremely and curiously gentle creature. It wouldn't hurt a fly. (Please excuse the terribly overused and clichéd expression.)

Twig now had an extensive but limited vocabulary range. Overall, it had the general intelligence of a small child, and seemed destined to stay at that level. Unlike a small child, though, Twig was not an obnoxious little demon. It was generous, kind-hearted, and, best of all, quiet.

We felt terribly guilty for Twig. Since we had found it two years ago, it had never once been allowed outside of the safety of the house. We feared it being seen by hunters or by campers, either to be shot or turned in to local authorities. Twig would often be found watching nature programmes on the television, or gazing longingly at the trees through the kitchen window. Twig hid its sadness at being held practically a prisoner very well.

One of the hardest parts of it all was having to convince Twig that it wasn't human. It would watch sports and music videos on the TV and become convinced that those were things it could eventually do. We knew that deep down inside, Twig understood that it was different from those people seen on the television, but that it desperately wanted to be part of it all.

Despite my original scepticism and dislike of the creature, it had proved me completely wrong. We no longer considered it a pet, but part of the family.

Though, we still had not discovered its gender.

It was a Sunday, the one day of the week when the three of us were together long enough to have a conversation. I had just prepared dinner, and we were sat down at the circular dinner table, doing what any family does at this time of day: Eat and pretend to be interested in what everyone has to say.

"… So I was thinking maybe a Ford. Then I thought the Chrysler might be a little cheaper." Brenda rambled.

"Brenda," I groaned. "We are _not_ getting a new car. We don't _need_ a new car. I like the car that we have _now_. Could you please stop talking about getting a new one!?"

"It's disgusting, Steven!" She grumbled. "The thing smells like old gym socks."

"I'm trying to eat…" I sighed, putting down a fork-full of lasagne. "Could we not talk about gym socks?"

She sat up straight and did that weird thing women do that somehow brings about automatic victory in any argument. That strange look that was a warning to all males that debate was not an option, and any attempts at compromise were futile.

"For God's sake…" I sighed in defeat, and decided to move the subject along. "What time are you home tomorrow?"

"Seven." She replied. "Have you planned dinner? I won't have time to make it."

I shook my head. "I have a lot of paperwork to do this week." I turned my head to look at Twig, sat at the table to my left. Instead of lasagne, a few slabs of bark (its favourite food, we had found out) sat on a plate in front of it. We had tried to feed Twig a variety of human food, but it never mixed well with its stomach, usually ending in disastrous results. "Twig, you're going to have to make dinner tomorrow."

"Twig make dinner." It agreed. "Maybe pasta."

"Pasta sounds good." I said. "But you have to remember to put something with it this time. A sauce, maybe."

"Twig remember." It smiled, something that, had we not known Twig, would send us running, screaming for our lives. "Twig use recipe this time."

It would be difficult. Twig could barely read.

I exchanged a smile with Brenda. It was useful having a third person in the house now to perform the chores that neither one of us had the time to do. Twig was only too happy to offer its service in performing mindless chores. I suppose it kept him/her entertained. Even Twig quickly became frustrated with daytime television.

A couple hours later, once everything had been cleaned away, it was time to put the football on the television. It had become a Sunday ritual for both I and Twig, and it was nice to finally have someone to watch it with. Brenda never approved, and always walked off in a rage, displeased at our lack of constructive activity for the duration of the games.

I was beginning to be convinced that Twig was male. It was almost as eager to watch the games as I was. The evidence became yet more convincing when Twig began drinking alcohol. That was something I did not foresee.

Of course, Twig didn't drink beer or anything like that. Twig enjoyed white rum, infused for about an hour with several tiny pieces of bark. It was a strange pleasure, but one that we were happy to provide. We never let Twig have too much, though. Rum mixed with a walking blender was not a pleasant concept, but Twig's body was large enough to absorb a small amount without seeing the effects that alcohol brings.

Tonight's football game was mildly entertaining. It had always been a pleasant getaway from work and patient files, and a good time to bond with Twig. I often had to explain who was winning, because he/she couldn't count much higher than eight. Even then, Twig would have to use its fingers.

Brenda was huffing loudly to attract our attention while she was tending to the living room flora.

"Brenda watch football?" Twig offered.

"No, thank you." She grumbled. "Good to see you helping with the house work, Steven." She seethed, darting her eyes at me in anger.

"We're watching the game!" I replied. "Is it too much to ask for a couple of hours to do what _I_ want to do?"

She growled and put her tiny watering can down. "So football is more important than keeping our house respectable, obviously."

Twig summed up my upcoming response with a monstrous belch, and then looked away, a little embarrassed. How that came from bark-infused rum, I would never know.

"Twig," Brenda sighed. "Please stop drinking that stuff. It's not good for you."

"Look, Brenda," I interrupted. "The game is about to finish. I promise I will do the rest of the housework when it is done."

She simply shook her head and stomped out of the room. Twig looked guilty.

"Twig help Brenda?"

"It's alright," I assured. "It's just something I'll have to deal with. No need to worry."

The game finished minutes later, the result being of no surprise. I put away the cans of beer I had accumulated and took Twig's empty glass. I returned from the kitchen area to see Twig looking downhearted.

"You okay, Twig?" I asked, sitting down beside it.

Twig gazed at the ground as it twiddled its Tyrannosaurus toes. "Twig okay. Twig just…"

"Twig what?"

"Twig want to play football. Twig want to sing like people on TV. Twig ever do those things?" Its slit eyes looked down at me, already suspecting the answer.

It was always hard to have this discussion, but it was something Twig brought up often. "Twig, you honestly think you could play football?" I asked, tugging lightly at one of the blunted elbow blades. "And you sing like a dog being run over by a steam roller."

Perhaps I could have put it a little better, but I was never much good at comforting. I reached up to pat Twig on the shoulder. That was the best I could do for now.

"Is Twig human?"

I sighed heavily and diverted my gaze. I hated such awkward questions. "You… Well, no, Twig. You're not."

"So what is Twig?" Twig whimpered.

I turned back to look it in the eyes. "We don't know. Not yet, anyway."

It was obvious to both me and Brenda that this line of questioning would not go away any time soon. It was heart-breaking, but at the end of the day, there was nothing we could do. It wasn't as if there were any other creatures like Twig around here, nor could we let it try out for the local football team or enter a cooking competition.

"Look, Twig… You may not ever be able to do those things. You may not be able to go outside. We don't know if you'll ever meet anyone like yourself…" I spoke as gently as I could. "But you're an important part of our family now. We can't let you do those things because we don't want to lose you. Humans aren't all football-playing chart-topping role models, you know. A lot of people are bad."

Twig just nodded and looked back down at its toes.

"Okay then." I said, hoping that my words would be enough for now. "Why don't you go do something to cheer yourself up? Then go have a shower. No offense, but you stink."

Twig smiled warmly. "Thank you, Steven."

"No problem, Godzilla." And I returned the favour.

Twig left the room in search of something to do, leaving me to search out Brenda and carry out whatever mindless tasks she insisted on being done. I found her upstairs in our bedroom, putting away some fresh laundry.

"You took your time." Brenda grumbled in frustration.

"Twig was having another "moment"." I informed her.

"Again? I thought she was over that by now." She sighed and threw me the basket full of dirty washing, just as a ringing noise echoed from downstairs. It was the phone.

"Could you answer that while I sort these clothes out?" I requested.

"_You_ answer it, you lazy bastard!"

I mumbled under my breath as I dropped the basket and headed back downstairs. "_Do the laundry. Answer the phone_. For God's sake, make up your mind!"

My hand caught the phone and hoisted it up to my ear. "Hello?" I grunted.

"Steven! It's David Yates."

My eyebrows rose in surprise. David was the last person I expected to be calling. "Ah, Hello David. How are things?"

"Good, Steven. Really good!" His voice was beaming, almost as if he was speaking with a permanent smile plastered to his face. He was energised. "Steven, do you remember that sample you dropped into my office?"

I paused, eyes blinking open wide. "Yes. Yes, I remember it."

His phone was briefly away from his face, and I swore I heard him whispering ecstatically in the distance to himself. He returned to the mouthpiece. "Steven, you have to come see this!"

"Calm down, David." I chuckled. "What have you found?"

He seemed to congratulate himself over the phone again. I had never heard him so excited. "It's… I found… I can't really explain over the phone. You have to come to my laboratory."

"Can't it wait till tomorrow, David?" I felt a smile slowly creeping onto my own face now.

"But… Okay, sure." I could sense him calming down. Just barely. "Come in during your lunch hour tomorrow. You will not be disappointed."

"I'm sure I won't" I nodded to myself. "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"See you tomorrow, Steven." I heard him getting excited again before he hung up his phone.

Had it really taken him two years to analyse Twig's sample? Judging by his unmistakable glee, he had found something astonishing, which, after I had gotten to know more about Twig, came as no surprise. The creature was definitely not something normal, and maybe it had taken all this time for David to find that out as well. He hadn't even seen Twig, after all.

I felt a rush of excitement, and after I put the phone back down on the receiver, I rubbed my hands together and grinned widely. Finally, some good news to look forward to.

I repeated the news to Brenda, who was equally excited. We agreed, however, not to tell Twig until we had learned what David had found.

Maybe now, we could finally find out what Twig was.

Brenda handed me back the dirty washing basket and sent me to the basement to finish off the chores. I was actually in a good mood now, which made the task a whole lot easier.

The basement lights were on, which meant that Twig had likely made its way inside. I lifted the basket so that I could see my feet as they moved down the bumpy concrete steps, but I froze halfway, catching ear of a strange, yet familiar sound.

It was a low huffing noise, coupled with the sound of lightly pounding flesh.

That sound was all too distinct.

I dropped the basket from my eye line and caught sight of Twig, sat on a blanket, one hand making an unmistakable motion. Twig stopped, noticing my presence, a great look of embarrassment spread over its face.

"Brenda!" I shouted casually back up the basement stairs. "Twig is _definitely_ a male!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

For perhaps the first time in my whole life, I was looking forward to Monday.

My good mood meant that the morning passed by much faster than usual. Even my patients seemed to pick up on it, and that made it pass even quicker.

I couldn't really explain why David's mysterious discoveries had made me this happy. Maybe answering a question that had been on my tongue for two years was a relief that I desperately needed. Something that had plagued my mind for so long would finally be dealt with.

But then there was something a little deeper. The slightest hint of worry of what David's findings would mean.

The hours quickly passed, and when my lunch hour arrived, I didn't head to the staff lounge to exchange meaningless pleasantries with Johnson or drown my sorrows in coffee. I headed straight for the laboratory on the top floor.

As soon as I knocked, the door flew open, and David was standing there, a big grin on his wrinkled face. "Steven! Come in, come in!"

I followed his inviting outstretched hand and strolled into the small laboratory. A couple of computers on a messy desk flashed some complicated programme I couldn't even try to understand. Several empty mugs were planted around the room, as were a few loose bits of paper and empty food wrappers. David had been in this room for longer than usual, perhaps the entire night.

He pulled up a seat for me, in front of the computer screens. "Please, sit down." He offered, his face still gleaming.

"Wow, David," I chuckled. "Did you win the lottery or something?"

"No lottery, Steven." He replied, sitting down in his own swivelling chair. "That sample you gave me two years ago…"

I clasped my hands on my lap. "You analysed the DNA?"

"Yes. I'm sorry it took so long, but it turns out that I needed more time than usual."

I raised an eyebrow. "So… What did you find?"

The smile broadened over his face. "Nothing."

An awkward silence filled the small laboratory, and I stared at him in disbelief. "Nothing…" I repeated.

He just nodded, his smile not fading.

"Nothing?" I continued, now a little disappointed. "Not even…? What about the species? Where did it come from?"

He shrugged. "No idea, Steven."

I sighed, frustrated. Obviously, David was seeing something that I couldn't. "Okay, David, I think you'll have to start from the top. I don't exactly know what 'nothing' means when it comes to genetics."

"Well, Steven," He began, adjusting his glasses. "Every living being on this planet contains DNA. Humans, Guinea Pigs, Trees, Single-cell amoebas. And every living thing's DNA originated from a distant common ancestor."

I nodded politely. "Okay, I'm with you."

He continued, "So the DNA of every creature is connected, and we see that quite clearly when we compare it from two different species. Hence, why we say that humans and chimpanzees share over ninety-five per cent of their DNA. We also share a lot of DNA with Cacti, and spiders, but those are more distantly related."

"Okay…"

"Basically, Steven, there are certain strands of DNA that are universally present among certain types of animals, and allow us to test species relations, evolutionary events, etcetera… After I finally picked up the sample that you gave me, I did some general observations and concluded that it was some kind of reptile, but nothing native to California. I initially concluded that this was just someone's house pet that had gone missing."

I nodded, trying to keep up with his rushed, excited speech. "But it wasn't?"

He shook his head. "I decided to take a closer look. I took it to the University of California to extract the DNA and analyse it… Do you know how we analyse sections of DNA, Steven?"

"I never paid much attention in genetics." I admitted.

"Okay then. At first, I attempted to analyse the mitochondrial DNA. Specifically the COI gene, which I thought I could use to identify the species. It's a relatively new way of doing it, a method still being perfected, so I put it through some more tried-and-tested methods, but…" He spread his arms. "It didn't work."

I narrowed my eyes. "What do you mean?"

"In order to analyse a section of DNA, that section needs to be amplified. In order to amplify the section, little synthetic molecules called primers are introduced to the DNA molecules. The primers are made to combine to certain sections, and from that, the desired genes are multiplied. I won't bore you with the details…"

"Please don't." I grumbled.

"So I and a couple of colleagues put the sample DNA through a typical PCR process, but it didn't go as expected. I expected certain sequences of DNA to arise, but they didn't. It was as if this creature of yours was missing large chunks of DNA that most other creatures have." He paused. "Then I analysed the sections that I managed to get, and I compared the sample DNA to DNA gathered from a large variety of species from across the world."

I sat up in my chair. "And?"

"Nothing." David repeated. "No matches. From what little DNA I recovered from the sample, nothing compared. Nothing even came close."

"So what does that mean?" I asked, baffled.

His huge grin returned. "I don't know, Steven. All that I know is that whatever this creature is, we have never seen anything like it before, at least, on a genetic level."

"Let me get this straight…" I groaned. "It's taken you two years to find out that you don't know what it is?

"Yes, and no. I don't have the faintest clue of what it is. Don't you see how that is a good thing?"

I thought about it, resting my chin in my palm. "You think it's something not connected genetically to any other creature?"

"I'm damn sure." He grinned. "A completely independent being. Something that did not evolve like we did."

"It couldn't be some sort of hybrid?" I asked, probably displaying my ignorance a little too willingly.

"No. It's not a hybrid. Listen to me, Steven," He urged, his whole body shaking with adrenaline. "This creature did not evolve from any Earth creature, nor does any human have the technology that can create such a complex biological machine…"

My eyes narrowed again. "You think it's an alien, don't you."

He cleared his throat and tried to restrain his excitement. "I don't want to jump to conclusions yet, Steven, but I can't see any other logical explanation right now."

I sighed, not knowing quite how to feel. Was David right? Did I have a space alien living in my house?

Maybe he was just going senile.

"You mentioned colleagues." I reminded. "How many? What did they think?"

"Just two or three. They were only there to help with sample preparation and the PCR process when I wasn't around. They don't know about the results. Not yet, anyway."

"Not yet?"

"I sent the results of the analyses to them this morning." He explained. "I've asked for the information to be kept confidential for now."

I nodded, a little more relieved, but David was looking at me eagerly. He wasn't quite done yet.

"I want to publish this, Steven." He pressed. "This could be the highlight of my career! This could be absolutely huge!"

He looked at me pleadingly. He wanted my permission, but I was too busy fighting different ideas and possibilities in my head. This was all too much. I could give up Twig's DNA and allow it to become scientific knowledge, or I could put two years of David's work to waste and deny him his breakthrough.

David picked up on my inner conflict, and stared at me curiously. "Is something wrong, Steven?"

I picked myself up with a deep breath and tried to hide my uncertainty. "I'm fine, I was just wondering…"

"I will make it worth your trouble." David smiled. "You passed the sample on to me. I won't forget that, if this becomes as big a breakthrough as I suspect."

That clinched my decision. For now, at least.

He continued, his pleading look briefly returning. "I was wondering whether this creature was still in your possession. If I were to publish these results, I would need evidence that it hasn't been fabricated."

A lump rose into my throat. "Yes. We still have it."

David smiled again. "Oh, wonderful!" He was almost bouncing in his seat. "Could I ask you to bring it round for me as soon as possible?"

I shook my head, lowering my eyes to the floor. "I can't do that, David."

His childish excitement dropped instantly. "You… You can't?"

"I can't bring it in, David. It's not easy to explain why…"

"Then may I come to your home, Steven?" He compromised.

I stuttered, wondering just what kind of hole I had dug myself into.

He continued to press, "Steven, I _must_ see it."

As soon as I had finished cleaning up my office at the end of my work day, I met up with David in the staff lounge, signed out, and walked him to my car. David was eager to ask questions, still as excited as he had been earlier, but I had spent the last few hours mulling over each and every possibility. My previous excitement at discovering David's results was misplaced. Having David analyse Twig's DNA, it turned out, was a dreadful mistake. I could see no easy way out of this situation, and I was either going to betray David, or betray Twig. The sudden change of mood was beginning to make me feel sick.

David was growing suspicious as we drove away from the hospital and towards home. "You aren't sharing much information. Any particular reason?" He asked.

I was driving with one hand on the steering wheel, the other hand rubbing my forehead. "David… I don't think anything I can say will prepare you. You've just got to promise me that you won't tell anyone what you see, got it?"

He gave me a sideward glance, his chirpy optimism dissipating into a mixture of confusion and worry. "I need to know why, Steven. What should I expect to see?"

I sighed. "I… It's… Please, just make me that promise, okay?"

"Okay, Steven," He said, sounding annoyed. "I promise you, I won't say a thing."

"And you won't just run away screaming, right?"

He hesitated and faced me directly. "What the hell am I going to see, Steven?!"

"A giant, walking blender." I grunted.

"Please be serious, Steven."

"I am."

We reached our home in the woods and I took the car into the drive. David had gone from being a bouncing, ecstatic man to a nervous, confused wreck.

I don't know how I do it, sometimes. It's a gift.

I made some observations of the local area to make sure nobody else was around, just in case David did in fact run into the woods screaming. Meanwhile, he was admiring the house, commenting under his breath on the unusual and beautiful location.

As I took him to the front door, I stopped him and gave him one final chat.

"David, remember not to-"

"I remember," He interrupted. "No running, no screaming, no exorcisms."

I nodded. "Good. And remember that he won't hurt you. He's extremely gentle."

David blinked. ""He?" Is it a male?"

"Yes. Strangely enough, we found that out yesterday. Please, don't ask me how. It's something I'm desperate to forget." I cringed at the memory.

David smiled, though he still appeared to be shaking with nerves. "All right then, Steven, let's see your mystery creature."

We entered through the front door to the smell of something cooking. That meant that Twig had started dinner, and would likely be found in the kitchen. I led David in that direction, but held him outside, turning my head around the wall to see Twig tending to a boiling pan of pasta. The radio was on, and he was singing along (terribly) to some dreary pop song.

I took in a deep breath as I prepared myself for the worst, letting David enter the kitchen.

His face said it all. His mouth drop about a foot, his eyes widened behind his thick spectacles, and all the colour from his skin drained, leaving him completely pale.

"Twig." I called to the creature. He stopped singing and turned around, revealing Brenda's pink baking apron pulled tightly over his front. His reaction was much the same as David's, and the wooden spoon he held dropped from his scaly claw to the floor.

Together they stood, still as statues, eyes fixated on each other. It was up to me to break the ice.

"David," I began. "Meet Twig. Twig, this is David."

David tried to force his way past me, back to the front door, but I blocked him and reminded him of his promise.

"Steven," He quivered. "_That_ is… it?"

I had to hold him to stop him from falling from shock, as his eyes darted over Twig's equally shaking body.

The reaction from Twig was not surprising. Apart from me and Brenda, he had never seen another human being that wasn't made of pixels. He was brave enough, however, to utter a few words. "Why is strange human here, Steven?"

That was the final straw for David, and his body collapsed into my supporting arms. The shock had knocked him unconscious. I groaned under his weight, but kept him upright.

"Twig? Help me lie him down on the couch, would you?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

We had dropped David's unconscious body on the large sofa in the living room. His first meeting with Twig could have gone a lot better. Then again, it could have been a lot worse.

Twig was clearly shaken, and he seemed very nervous while we were moving David.

"Why Steven bring human?" He whined.

"I'll explain everything when he wakes up Twig." I groaned. "We just have to make sure that everyone is calm and happily introduced first. David will need to get used to your presence. You aren't exactly Little Red Riding Hood, are you?" I stated rhetorically.

Twig apparently took offense and pouted. "Steven always say. Twig not think that Twig is scary."

"I understand that, Twig, but to someone who hasn't met you, you look like the Russian's answer to Godzilla." I grumbled. "Look, just go make dinner and wait for Brenda to get home. It's just gone seven o'clock, so she'll be back soon. And Twig?"

He stopped pouting and looked at me. "Yes?"

"For the sake of all things good and holy, please, please stop singing."

Twig whined like a lonely dog but obeyed, heading back into the kitchen. I made sure that David's body was laid comfortably on the sofa, placing a cushion under his head and laying him on his side. I was hoping that a man of his age wouldn't suffer a heart attack in such a situation.

I visited Twig back in the kitchen to make sure dinner wasn't burned or undercooked. A recipe was placed on the cooking surface, opened to a pleasant-looking pasta recipe. "How's dinner, Twig?" I asked him.

He still looked a little hurt, but he was willing to talk. "Dinner good. Twig follow recipe."

"But you can't read." I reminded him.

"Twig look at picture." He pointed a big claw to the picture and smiled. "Make pasta so it looks like book pasta."

I recognised the obvious flaws in his methods, but I decided to let them drop. "As long as you don't put any bark in, I'm sure it will be wonderful."

"Yes… No bark…" His face turned to a look of embarrassment.

I wasn't going to enjoy tonight's dinner.

Nevertheless, I humoured him. "I'm sure it will be delicious, Twig."

"Twig make good pasta." He nodded with a grin.

"_A_ good pasta. Twig make _a_ good pasta." I suggested. We still felt the need to improve his vocabulary, even if it seemed more and more like a lost cause every day.

"Twig make _ayyyyyy_ good pasta." He agreed. "_Ayyyyyy_…"

A bang erupted from the corridor. Brenda had arrived home. She swooped into the kitchen and gave us both a polite twist of the lips, setting down her work things on the dinner table.

"Hey, Brenda," I greeted. "Before you ask why there is an old man lying on our sofa-"

She was looking over my shoulder as I was speaking, and then interrupted me. "Why is there an old man lying on our sofa?"

"It's Professor Yates." I informed her. "The guy who I gave… You-Know-Who's sample to." I avoided getting Twig's attention.

She bit her lower lip, and then switched to Twig, admiring his cooking. Taking a smell of the food, she tapped him on the arm and smiled up at him. "Hi, Twig. The food smells delicious." It was a pathetically disguised lie, but Twig was gullible enough to fall for it.

"Hello, Brenda. Twig make good pasta." I rolled my eyes.

"Say, Twig," Brenda continued. "Could you go hoover up our room? I'll take care of dinner for now."

Twig obediently left the kitchen, and Brenda turned back to me. "So what did he say?"

I leaned my body against the dinner table. "He thinks Twig is some kind of space alien. He went through all these complicated DNA analyses and found that it didn't match anything. Apparantly, Twig isn't genetically related to anything on this planet."

The look on her face is one that I imagined I held when David had told me, a look of confusion and anxiety. "And how does that explain him lying unconscious on our sofa."

"He wanted to see Twig. He saw Twig. Now he's unconscious." I bluntly stated.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "You just let him come to our house to see Twig?!"

"There wasn't much I could do." I said defensively. "He already has the DNA. I couldn't just deny that Twig existed." I hesitated in search of another excuse. "And anyway, David has studied that sample for two years. He says it will be some major scientific event. I can't deny him that fame."

"So what? You're just going to betray Twig?" She growled.

"I can't betray David. He's put too much work and hope into this. We could still make this work out for everyone."

She shrieked and pulled at her hair in anger. "We can't, Steven! I can't believe you could do this to Twig! You honestly think he would be allowed to stay here?"

We stood in silence for a while, trying to decipher the situation as best we could. I was searching out any possibility, and the only reasonable solution was one of compromise.

First, however, we needed to get David and Twig introduced without any fainting.

It wasn't long before David regained consciousness. He moaned for about ten seconds before he realised what had happened, and he bolted upright on the sofa. I was stood over him.

"Where is it?!" He gasped, his head twisting to validate his location.

"Calm down, David." I shushed him. "He's upstairs, but we need to-"

He shot up from his seat, brushing me aside. "I must see it, Steven!"

I pulled on his arm to stop him rushing away, but he resisted. His eagerness from earlier had returned.

"Steven, did you see it?! It talked, Steven! The monster talked!" He practically screamed.

I was a younger man, and my fresher muscles prevailed over his. His resisting soon faded as I held him in place. "David, I will bring him down once you have calmed."

David was panting, but he rubbed at his forehead and nodded. "Okay. I'm calm, I'm calm."

Brenda helped me sit him down at the dinner table and offered him a drink, which he happily accepted. I assured him once again that there was no need to panic, and hurried upstairs to fetch Twig.

I explained the situation to him as well, but it wasn't as much of an effort to keep him calm. He waddled after me back to the kitchen, and the two once again came face to face.

Twig's confidence had returned for their second meeting, but David was again overwhelmed by Twig's fearsome appearance. Thankfully, he avoided losing consciousness this time, and shakily took a sip from his coffee. Brenda and I watched on curiously.

"Well, Twig," Brenda whispered. "Aren't you going to welcome our guest?"

He reached a long arm slowly over the table and offered David a handshake. David hesitated, but eventually lifted a vibrating hand to join Twig's

"Hello, David." Twig uttered nervously. "My name is Twig."

David was as white as a ghost. He seemed utterly amazed by Twig's ability to speak. Who wouldn't be?

"H-Hello, Twig…" He stammered. "Nice to… meet you…"

I signalled for Twig to take the seat opposite David, and I sat down between them. Brenda poured a couple more coffees for the two of us, and then she sat down herself, opposite to me.

We sat, four in a circle, in a very awkward silence. David was still gawking at Twig, who was looking sheepishly down at his claws that tapped on the table.

"This is one hell of a party." I broke the silence, only for Brenda to give me a hateful glare over the table. I sighed, and tried to begin the discussions. "David, Twig is the creature that you took the sample from."

Twig blinked and turned his eyes to me. "Sample?"

"Yes, Twig." I said. "I took one of your scales when you were younger and sent it to David. We wanted to know what you were."

He perked up at this revelation. "Know what Twig is now?!"

I mournfully shook my head. "I'm afraid not, Twig."

Twig slumped visibly in his seat. David was still watching him intently, some of the colour returning to his cheeks.

Brenda felt the need to catch up on what David had discovered. "What exactly did you find from the sample?"

David repeated, almost word-for-word, what he had said to me in his office, and just like me, Brenda was barely able to keep up, but managed to get the gist of it.

"So," He continued. "If I wanted to get this data published, I would need evidence that the specimen exists."

Brenda looked rightfully troubled. "You want to take Twig away?"

The professor looked up at Twig, who had long since lost track of the conversation. "I wouldn't need to take Twig. All I would need is some photographs and a few more samples. Maybe even a short video of him. After that, however, when the information is made available, others will want to investigate. Twig would likely be taken to a zoo to be studied." He looked around at our dissatisfied faces and sighed. "I see, though, that this would not be desirable for you."

"We are not going to let Twig be thrown in some dirty cell to be prodded and probed by university students." Brenda asserted.

"I understand that." David said. His eyes focused on Twig again, deep in consideration. "Twig?" He addressed, and the creature began paying attention once again. "I'm afraid I don't know much about you. Could you please tell me a little about yourself?"

Twig hesitated and looked to Brenda for approval. With her nod, he gulped and searched around for things to say. "Twig two years old. Always live here with Steven and Brenda. Steven and Brenda take care of Twig."

David smiled at him kindly. "Do you have any hobbies? Is there anything you want to do when you are older?"

"Twig want to play football. Play for 49ers." He dipped his head, plainly embarrassed. "And Twig like to sing. Like to sing Santana. Steven say that Twig not sing good, though. Say Twig sing like elephant being pushed through doggy door."

David narrowed his eyes at me. "It's true." I defensively retorted.

"Twig," Brenda interrupted. "I think dinner is ready now. Why don't you go and serve it up for us?"

He nodded and got up to leave the table.

David was still in awe of the creature, and when Twig was out of hearing range, he made sure that we knew of his fascination. "It's amazing…" He murmured. "I expected to come here and find some small, uninteresting blob."

"We were just as shocked as you." I assured him.

"And not only that," He continued. "But it talks! It… He has ambitions. Steven, Brenda, I don't think I've ever been so confused in all my life."

I sat forward in my seat, determined to get the conversation back on track before Twig returned. "David, are you going to publish your results?"

He shook himself back into reality, took notice of my question and fiddled with his glasses, making clear his inner conflict. "While I wish to let the world know of such a creature…" He mumbled. "I don't believe now that I could bring myself to do it. I don't trust the scientific community to treat him with the same decency and care as you clearly have, and I would hate to see a sentient being thrown into a zoo as some test dummy."

I caught Brenda smiling, but I still felt a deep stab of guilt. "But what of all the work you did on this? What about your breakthrough?"

He shook his head. "I take lots of samples to analyse. That's my job, so I didn't have to expend too much energy on this single sample. But yes, I would have to sacrifice the scientific impact of such a creature's discovery."

I groaned in regret. "I'm sorry about this, David."

"Please, Steven, don't be." He smiled. "I have had the great honour of meeting an actual space alien." He winked, and his appreciation seemed genuine.

The meeting had gone better than expected, and as Twig began to prepare the table, I invited David to stay for dinner. He was more than happy to accept.

Dinner, as I expected was… unusual. Twig had some natural ability to prepare a meal where no two single ingredients matched. He was lucky, as his dinner consisted of a few small slabs of pine bark that he wholeheartedly enjoyed. We didn't have to feel left out though, because he had craftily blended a hint of bark to our pasta. I spent half the meal pulling it out of my teeth.

David didn't care, though. He had gotten over his initial fear, and was engaging in conversation with Twig for the entire length that it took for me and Brenda to get fed up with our pasta. David seemed utterly fascinated by Twig, and who could blame him? Twig was a geneticist's dream come true.

An hour or so later, David finally remembered that he had a wife of his own, and decided that it was best to leave. He shook my hand and gave Brenda a gentlemanly kiss on the cheek.

He swivelled to Twig and shook his leathery, scaly hand as best as he could. "It was lovely to meet you, Twig." He beamed. "Perhaps I should return again for a coffee."

"I wouldn't recommend it," I intruded. "Not after the last time Twig drank coffee."

"I see." David said, looking a little disturbed. "Well anyway, I hope to see you soon."

"Nice to meet David, too." Twig responded.

I led the professor to the door and opened it with a smile. "I hope we're making the right choice." I whispered as we stepped onto the drive.

David nodded. "I'm sure were are, Steven. I haven't been so sure of anything for a while."

Since David hadn't brought his car, it was my job to be his chauffeur, and I drove him home. His previous excitement had once again returned by the time we were in our seats, but now it seemed a little sour. He knew he would not receive the fame that he thought his results would bring him, and during the ride, he phoned his colleagues and asked them to discard the results he had sent as inaccurate. He admitted his disappointed about this to me, but at the same time, he seemed genuinely relieved to have met Twig, and he asked if he could visit again sometime in the near future.

I returned him to his home and began the long journey back, fully expecting to walk through the front door to Brenda, arms crossed, and a hateful, evil glare in her eyes.

I wasn't wrong.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

For the rest of that night, Brenda hardly spoke a word, but her silence, couple with the angry glares gave me enough of a message. The message stated that I wasn't getting any for at least a week. Back to the couch for Steven tonight!

But the message didn't end there. Brenda felt appalled by my actions, and she also appeared to feel that I was also willing to betray Twig as soon as any small incentive was offered.

In truth, I did feel some level of guilt, but I shrugged it off as Brenda's stares just getting to me.

I slept on the couch that night in front of Twig, who was laid flat out on the floor on several blankets. He wondered why I was there, and I just told him to go to sleep.

Tuesday at work went by as expected. The morning was spent dealing with the same dull patients, my lunch hour was spent in front of a pretty disgusting coffee and discussing motor racing with Johnson. Then the afternoon was wasted on yet more patients.

I tried to find Professor Yates, but for some inexplicable reason, he wasn't at work today.

It was my turn to make dinner tonight, and I was forever thankful for it, after having tasted the vile concoction Twig has spawned yesterday. Today, I felt like fish. I liked fish.

And so did Brenda. Maybe a good fish dish would be enough for her to forgive me. After all, nothing bad had come of yesterday's meeting.

But my confidence in my cooking was misplaced. Once Brenda had returned and got rid of her work things, and stared with disgust at the food.

"You think this is going to make me forgive you?" She growled.

I widened my eyes, trying to look as if such a thought had never crossed my mind. "What are you talking about?" The fish was nearly ready, and I was now rationing potatoes onto two plates.

"I'm still not happy with you." She announced, as if I didn't already know. "I cannot believe that you would do such a thing!"

"Look, Brenda," I grumbled, anger growing in my chest. "It's done, now. Nothing bad has happened. Twig is still here. David is happy to stay quiet."

"It isn't the outcome that concerns me!" She shrieked. "How much did you know about this Professor Yates before you brought him home?"

The fish was now ready, so I placed the fillets on the plates and moved them over to the dinner table. "I knew him well enough, Brenda. Well enough."

"Oh yeah? Somehow I doubt it." She hissed. "What if the guy decided he preferred money over his peers? What if it was Dan, your boss? The guy who would strangle his own mother for an extra buck? This Yates guy could have been just like that, and then what?"

"Well, he wasn't." I groaned. "Now will you just shut up and eat your food?!"

She shook her head in disbelief and apparent disgust, and then stormed out of the kitchen. "No, Steven. I'm going out."

"Oh yeah?" I shouted after her. "You go enjoy McDonalds with Linda! See if I care!"

The front door slammed. Brenda had left as soon as she had arrived.

Twig had been listening in, his head poking through the opening to the living room.

"Why Brenda leave?" He asked, moving his body into full view.

I sighed. He didn't need to know. "You like fish, Twig?"

Brenda returned a few hours later, and fortunately, she had calmed down enough not to slam the door free of its hinges. She quietly made her way to the kitchen where I was sat, flicking through some work files. There, she stood with her hands on her hips, staring at me like she deserved some grand apology.

"Your dinner is in the microwave." I granted her instead. "Twig won't eat fish."

She huffed, retrieved her dinner from the microwave and dropped it on the table, opposite me. Once she had found a knife and a fork, she sat down without a word and ate.

I knew that the issue wouldn't be dropped until we talked it through, so when she was done with her food, I brought it up again in a calmer, more civil manner.

"I understand why you're upset with me Brenda." I began. "I don't want you to think that I would sell out this family as soon as an opportunity comes along."

She glowered at me, her eyes still showing betrayal. "You did, though, Steven. You put the family in danger over some promise of fame."

"Fame?" I snorted. "What fame? It would have been David whose name would be remembered for finding the first ever space alien!"

But Brenda saw through that. "You think he wouldn't give you credit? You gave him the sample, you allowed him to see Twig. David is a nice guy, Steven, at least from what I've seen. His fame and riches would rub off right onto you."

Of course, she was right. To some extent, anyway. David's promise to repay me was the clinching factor in my decision to let him see Twig. I rubbed my hand over my hand, realising the dark, unpleasant side to myself.

"I'm not sure I can ever look at you the same way again." Brenda's voice changed, becoming pathetic and saddened. "I thought you would do anything to protect the family. Granted, we don't have much of a family, but it still needs protecting."

"Protecting?" I boomed, the anger and frustration that had been building finally showing. "The only reason it needs protecting is because you allowed Satan's pet lizard into the house! What have we had since then? We can longer allow people into our house! We can't allow builders or painters in to fix the holes that said beast has created! We're forced to live a lie because you let your maternal instincts get the better of you over some damn alien! You talk about me protecting the family? Look at what _you've_ done to it!"

"If it weren't for the decisions I made, we wouldn't even _have_ a family!" She countered, her brutal tone returning. "I would have been happily divorced for over a year now! I could move to the city, have a decent social life. I could have a real job. I could meet a man who isn't a total and utter dick! _You_ would be wasting away back in Colorado! If I didn't make those decisions, I could be a free, happy woman. But I chose to have a family, Steven, and now that family needs to be protected."

"Maybe I should go back to Colorado." I growled bitterly. "I'll leave you here. Obviously you'll be better protected without the income that keeps us living in this hell hole."

We seemed to reach a brief stalemate, and we both diverted our gazes and mulled over the next lines of attack. Brenda was the first to deliver.

"Mother was right to warn me about you. She never trusted you, you know."

"Do I care about what she thought? She just couldn't stand me because my qualifications threatened her. She couldn't stand that I could give you everything that she never could! I mean, come on, what is the total sum of what she left you? A horrible little clock that now looks exactly like she did!"

Brenda's emotions were spiralling, and now she was close to tears, but her voice still carried a vicious power. "Mother loved our family! She did everything she could for us! She wasn't a selfish, uncaring, unloving scumbag!"

Round two was done, and a few stray tears dripped down her face. "I can't take this. I just can't take this." She muttered, putting her hands over her face.

I sighed, another string of guilt curling around my neck. Neither of us enjoyed this kind of petty point-scoring argument, and as we sat there reeling, Twig entered the room. Once again, he had heard everything from the safety of the living room. Hell, our neighbours over a mile away probably heard it.

"Go away, Twig." I warned under my breath, but he continued to approach, concluding by putting a large claw over Brenda's shoulder. She accepted the comfort and put her hand on his.

Twig had chosen a side, and I no longer had the will to continue this fight. I rose from my seat, exchanged a ferocious glare with Twig, and left the kitchen for the living room.

I spent the next hour stuck somewhere in my own mind. I rushed over every word spat, regretted every little derisive comment, and yet I constantly found myself diverting the blame, pleading innocence, placing the blood of this relationship in everyone else's hands. I blamed Brenda for the accusations. I blamed David for forcing me to make the fatal decision. I blamed Twig for making us live in secrecy.

But in the end, I knew that I was the one to blame. I had allowed, and in some cases pushed for this situation to arise. Our marriage, previously hanging on by threads, was severed by the lack of trust that we showed each other. We could no longer stand each other's presence and that had showed its self, after having being bottled up for so long.

The television had been muted, and over the stuttering sound of my own breathing, I could barely make out the sound of Twig doing his best to comfort Brenda from upstairs. Her tears were slowly drying up, but I knew that she wouldn't forgive me for tonight. She would find somewhere else to sleep.

Surely enough, she headed downstairs with a backpack full of essentials a few minutes later, and was closely followed by Twig. She began packing some more things, still sniffling away her sobs.

I was about to make a last attempt at peace between us, when the phone rang.

My eyes trailed to it, wondering who would possibly want to call at this hour.

I picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Steven, it's David!" He spoke. His voice was trembling. He sounded panicked.

"Oh, hi David," I started. "How are y-"

"Steven! You have to leave your house!"

That stunned me, and left me swirling in confusion. "Excuse me? I swear you just told me to leave m-"

"You have to get out, Steven! Right now!" He was yelling, a trembling, frightened mess that I could picture perfectly, even over the phone.

"What's gotten into you?!" I pressed, stepping back into the centre of the room, puzzled and anxious.

"Take Brenda. Take her far away from that place. Just do it now, and do it fast!" He panted heavily into the mouthpiece. "They're coming for you."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up straight, sending a cold rush tickling down my spine. I stammered out a few loose syllables, but that was all I could muster.

"Steven, are you listening?!" He boomed. "Take Brenda and go! They've found me, Steven. Now they know where you live! You have to leave!"

My eyes darted around, looking for any sort of clue as to what he was saying. They turned to the windows. The night was pitch-black.

"David, who are you-"

"Steven, you have to get out of there NOW! They're comi-" Suddenly, his voice cut out, and a long, haunting buzz took its place.

I placed the phone back on the receiver. The hairs on the back of my neck were bristling, and my breathing had quickened, my heart racing.

This was no joke. David sounded distraught, desperate. A defeated man.

"Brenda…" I whispered at first, struggling to find my voice. "Brenda!"

"I'm not listening, Steven!" She shouted from the kitchen.

I raced in after her, and she instantly noticed the fear in my eyes. "Brenda. We have to leave. Right now."

She narrowed her eyes in confusion, but the anger remained. "Steven, who was on the phone?" She seethed suspiciously.

"It was David. But that doesn't matter, Brenda. We have to leave right now!"

"No, Steven!" She shouted, pushing me away. "I'm not doing this anymore! I'm not playing any of your stupid games!"

I scraped my sweaty hands down my face and shook my head. "I'm not playing, Brenda! Get in the car, now!" I stormed towards her and began pushing her into the hallway with the least amount of force needed. Twig was beside the front door, twisting around and bouncing from one foot to the other, wondering what to do as I took Brenda by the shoulders.

"Get off me, Steven! GET OFF!"

Suddenly, a huge bang struck the house. We stopped shouting, and our heads all turned to the front door.

Another bang! The lock strained and began to tear from the wood.

Then it gave way.

With a third bang, the door flew back and slammed the wall, revealing the blunt end of a police battering ram.

Brenda screamed and instantly clung to my side. I moved her behind me and shouted my anger at the force responsible.

But from the darkness poured armed officers, covered from head to toe in helmets and bullet-proof clothing. Orders were yelled as they poured in through the opened door, unperturbed by Brenda's frightened screams.

Then the officers saw Twig. They raised their pistols and unleashed their rounds.

At least five bullets hit, sending Twig back against the wall. He collapsed and slumped to the floor.

"Twig!" Brenda cried, but she continued to cling to my side. My own horror at what was happening had silenced my barks, and I took several steps back until we had our backs to the basement door.

The officers quickly filled the room, some of them branching off to search the house. Six of them stood watching us, pistols raised off the floor, ready to unload the bullets at the first sign of dissent.

Then, through the front door, strolled Police Chief Harris.

Brenda and I were completely speechless, but while she sobbed into my side, watching as unusual shades of blood oozed from Twig's unmoving body, I stood my ground and tried to stay dignified.

Harris moved in front of us and smirked. "Well, well, well. It seems that my suspicions were correct all along."

"What are you talking about?" I managed to say. "Why are you here?"

"We were after this." Harris mumbled, kicking a foot against Twig's mangled body. "And hence, we were also after you."

"Why?!" I spat.

"That will become clear soon enough." Harris grinned below his greying moustache, and then, seemingly talking to himself, said, "The Visser almost had my head over this whole fiasco. Maybe now, he'll let me off the hook. He's been after this escapee for two years now."

I yelled at him, "What are you talking about?!"

He held up his hands, shushing me in an annoyingly condescending manner. "Now, now, Steven. This will go much smoother if you remain calm."

"I'll show you calm…" I threatened, but I got no more than two steps before every gun in the room was pointed at my head.

Harris smirked again. "You're coming with us."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Brenda and I were both handcuffed, and after a minute or so of screaming, I was also gagged. Brenda was in tears, but too afraid of the weapons pointed at her to shout out. I tried to appeal for my rights to be upheld, but the officers took no notice.

We were being arrested, and we had no idea what for.

The officers pushed us both out into the night, and then forced us into two separate squad cars, much to our infuriation. I would have put up more of a fight, had a gun not been constantly pressed to my head right up until I was securely locked up in the back of the squad car.

I growled beneath my gag and watched the two officers through a metal guard, sat and having a laugh at my expense in the front of the car. They started up the engine, and through the window I watched as our illuminated house disappeared behind a wall of trees. The other police vehicles followed along behind, rows of headlights bobbing up and down in the pitch-black of the night.

I listened in on the conversations of the two officers in the front. For most of the journey, they remained in silence, and when they talked, a lot of unfamiliar words came up that quickly made me lose track of what they were saying. My seething anger and confusion didn't help, either.

But one thing was soon certain: This was not a normal arrest.

For one thing, that hadn't charged us, nor had they given us any formal measures that were used during arrests.

Secondly, they pretty much told me so.

The police officer who wasn't driving turned his head to look at me. "You okay, back there?" It was said with a mocking smirk. I glared back at him.

"I bet you're wondering where were headed." He continued. "And I bet you're also wondering why we're taking you to wherever it is that we're headed."

I nodded very, very slowly.

A hideous grin found its way to the officer's mouth. "We're taking you to a new home, Steven. A new life. Something bigger and better than what you had before. A new start."

That did nothing to calm me, nor was his tone convincing. I just kicked at the door in frustration.

I wanted my wife back. I wanted my house back. To be perfectly honest, under my hateful stares and occasional thrashing, I was utterly terrified. And it only got worse from there.

The car came to a halt, and I looked outside to see that we were still surrounded by trees. There was a meadow in the distance, marked off by a barbed wire fence.

The officers exited the car and marched around to open my door. I kicked and moaned beneath my gag as they reached in to take me. I managed to catch the driver in the jaw, but he returned the favour with a swift punch to my own, and I reeled from the hit. After a brief struggle, they lifted me from the vehicle, and a pair of officers from a second squad car helped in restraining me. One of them had resorted to threatening me with his pistol again, and that helped to calm me down externally.

As they stood me between a few mangled trees, I managed to catch a glimpse of the local area. Only two squad cars, including my own, had arrived here. The rest had disappeared, including the car Brenda had been taken it. I yelled behind from behind my cloth and gave another officer a kick on the shin. They were beginning to tire of my antics, and decided vocally to get the job over with.

That was when I became even more worried than before. These officers had me bound and gagged in the middle of the woods, no civilisation in sight, and they wanted to "get the job over with". It was at that point that I thought I would die.

But they had no intention of killing me. One of the officers pulled a small electrical device from his pocket as the remaining three officers turned me toward an unusually wide oak tree. I watched as the first officer pressed a button on the electronic device, and the tree began to move.

It lifted off of the ground by about five inches at first, barely making a sound. Then, it proceeded to slide backwards with a harsh squeaking noise, like it needed a really good oiling. Beneath the tree appeared a large, black hole in the ground, just large enough, perhaps, to fit a car through. I struggled and resisted in horror as the police marched me toward it.

My feet found steps that descended into the unnerving darkness, and by the time we had reached a few steps down, and the final officer had entered the tunnel, the tree above began to squeak again, and rolled back into its original and deceiving position. The moment it lowered and touched the grass, a row of lights blazed on above, forming a single file line of haunting red light that stretched down into the impossibly long stairway.

They marched me down, the barrel of a gun pressed threateningly between my shoulder blades. I was beyond panic by this point, my body barely able to resist, my eyes widened, alert to whatever fate awaited me. By this point, it felt like I was just going to give up. There was now no escape from whatever it was that they were taking me to.

The stairs went on for an awfully long time, unchanging. The red lights that glowed above us were unending, and they soon began to irritate my eyes. But then the stairs began to widen, and a small amount of light radiated from an opening in the distance. We were coming to the end of the stairway.

It came to an opening like a huge cave entrance, and as soon as I exited it, I wished to head straight back in.

It opened up into what at first appeared to be an enormous underground base. There were buildings like barracks in a long line in front of us, complete with a medical bay and a cargo depot to our right. To my left was a building like a small aircraft hangar, and through the one open door, I spotted military trucks, motorcycles and various other vehicles that weren't built for casual road use.

The rocky wall that we had emerged from curved up and over those buildings, forming a great dome, the tip of which ended in a large round hole in the roof about a mile from where we stood. The same red lighting from the tunnel was interspersed with white fluorescent lighting which circled the walls, lending them a horrid orange/red glow, and leaving shadows like scars running menacingly up the walls.

The officers marched me forward, gun still teasing my back, into an alleyway between two of the barrack-like buildings. We emerged out the other end, and from there the views only became more detailed. From here, I could see that the line of buildings continued in patches around the circumference of the enormous base, each patch with its own barracks, depot and medical bay. They were like tiny villages. The place was so huge that it probably warranted numerous settlements.

But what really got my attention here was what sat between and connected the villages. Like a huge lake, sat in the middle of this underground world was a red-brown, sludgy pool, its surface rippling with movement beneath the surface. From this distance, I couldn't really make out what was causing the surface disruption.

On the edges of the lake sat several piers that hovered over the sludgy, rusty water, one adjacent to each small "village". I saw figures stood over the nearest pier. People, and… Twig?

No, two Twigs. Three!

Confusion bubbled up into my mind again as I watched the activity bustling on beside the great lake, but my eyes were then drawn further back, trailing over to the space between the villages of military buildings. There sat rows upon rows of cages, with shadowy figures patrolling, squirming around inside.

My sense of vision, up to this point, was the most sensitive to my new surroundings, but now I began to pay attention to my other senses. I smelled the air and instantly felt my stomach turn. I smelled what I imagined was the rusty lake water. I smelled human blood. I thought that I smelled other types of blood, but I couldn't be sure.

But by far the worst thing was the sounds that bounced off the walls and echoed harshly in my head. I heard screaming, crying, shouts of anger from every direction. Piercing screeches that pained my ears, the banging of metal on metal, sounds that were sharp and discomforting. They made my jaw quiver, and the hairs perk up on the back of my neck. Then again, they had been erect all night.

I was distracted from the horror that surrounded me as a bald, uniformed man in his twenties approached us. He had a small hand-held radio strapped to his belt, and he was clutching a notepad. "Report." He spoke to my captors.

The officer who had operated the tree earlier stepped up and responded. "Antlac five-five-three reporting. Squadron has successfully performed Mission 4X-55. The two humans have been captured, unharmed." He stated, indicating to me. "This is the human named Steven Reynolds. Dr Steven Reynolds."

The uniformed man seemed to jot down these details on his notepad and nodded for more information.

"The second human was considered to be of less importance, and so has been taken to Station 6." He continued. I shot him a cursing look at what he said and moaned behind my gag in protest. The officer to my left yanked at my arm to keep me quiet. "That humans name is Brenda Reynolds. Host 44-HB-72 was found in the home of these two humans."

"What is 44-HB-72's condition?" The uniformed man asked.

"Condition unknown. Farnad one-one-eight will report when the body has been inspected."

With a curt nod, the uniformed man accepted the information and proceeded to look me over. "Is this human much of a handful for you?"

"He resists, but not enough to cause any problems." The lead officer reported.

"Okay," The bald man said. "This host has already been arranged for Yarfush three-one-seven. He is to be placed in cell B-68."

The officer nodded and ended the report. I trawled through the load of information that had been transferred, but I simply couldn't make sense of it all. It meant nothing to me, and I tried to vent my frustration by swinging my shoulders and barging my escorts, but it did not deter them.

I recalled the brief information that they gave on my wife. They had taken her elsewhere, most likely to another one of the small villages. I lifted my head as high as I could as searched the local area, but finding her was near to impossible in such an enormous cavern.

We moved over to the rows of cages that were strung between two villages. From closer up I could make out human faces within. Some were sobbing, some were screaming. Some were completely emotionless and silent. Hands stretched through the bars of the cages as we marched past.

There were more than just humans, as well. I saw more creatures like Twig that had been left in the cages. A few would roar and grunt at us as we moved along, while others would retreat back in their cages and whine. Others joined in with the sobbing humans.

A lot of the cages were shared, with between two and six individuals in each, and they were not necessarily race-divided.

Now I knew where I was headed. Looking up at the top edges of the cages, there were all given numbers. B-48, B-49, B-50…

I had been given B-68. My eyes drifted forward, looking for the cage I would be spending an undetermined time in.

My attention was briefly diverted as my foot splashed into a deep puddle of blood that soaked coldly into my shoes. I felt the cooled liquid delving between my toes. The cold shiver once again zigzagged down my spine.

We finally arrived at B-68, and I shuddered at the sight of it. It was small, the ceiling standing about six feet from the ground, meaning that my head would be scraping against the top. The bars were thick, cold steel, and the hideous red light from the nearest wall was the only colour that threatened to disturb the near-perfect darkness of its interior. I saw a figure sat in the far corner, but I could make out nothing more than a silhouette.

The cage was opened with a screech of metal, and I was forced before the entrance. A pair of hands reached up and began untying my gag. When it finally came loose, I released all the anger and confusion in screams directed at the men who had brought me to this hell, but my shouting and screaming was cut short with another sturdy slam to my jaw. I tasted blood in my mouth and let it dribble to the rocky ground.

The handcuffs were removed and I was immediately shoved into the darkness of the cage, falling forward and slamming hard into the bars on the opposite side. The door to the cage was closed and locked before I even had the chance to retaliate. Nevertheless, I rose to my feet and charged at the bars.

"Let me out, you bastards!" I yelled.

The officers just snickered amongst themselves and turned to leave.

"You bastards!" I repeated. "Let me out of this god damn cage!"

But I knew even then that my efforts were futile. The officers disappeared into a nearby building, leaving me to scream my lungs dry and clutch at the ice-cold steel bars.

I continued to scream at no one in particular. "Where's my wife?! Let me out and bring me my wife!"

My cries went almost unheard, drowned out by the screams and sobs and guttural howls that echoed from the cages surrounding my own. It was a hideous, nightmarish ensemble of anguish and despair.

I was far passed tears now. I slammed my fists against the bars and cursed them for their presence. I tried to fiddle with the lock on the cage door, but its construction was foreign and unmovable.

Eventually, I gave up and sat in the centre of the cage, shivering in a mix of cold and radiating anger.

"Hey, man."

I twitched, turning my head to the corner where the silhouette had been seen earlier. I had completely forgotten about it. The voice was deep and calm.

"Who's there?" I stuttered through my gritted teeth. The man's face was still hidden in complete darkness.

"The closest thing you have in this hell to a friend."

The figure shuffled forward in the cage, his face becoming illuminated by a beam of light that shone through the bars. He was an African-American gentleman, probably in his forties. A layer of hair hugged his chin, and it stretched right up the short hair on his head. His eyes stared at me curiously, assessing, and he spoke again.

"Welcome to your new home."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

"The name's Howson." The African-American man said, crawling out from the dark corner of the cage.

Sighing, I decided to play along. "Steven. Steven Reynolds."

Howson nodded and forced a smile. "New guy, huh? I guess this must all be a big shock to you."

I looked away and remained silent.

Howson came into full view beside me. He was a bulky man, and tall enough not to be able to stand up straight in the low cage. His eyes focused on me, but I avoided them and rested my chin in my hand.

"This won't get any easier if you don't talk." He persisted. "Believe me, I've seen plenty of people hide themselves away, isolate themselves in their own little bubbles. I tell you now, it don't ever end pretty for them. You may as well talk to me, because these are the only opportunities you'll get to speak for yourself from now on."

I granted him a sideways glance. "What is this place?" I asked, my voice tense and strained.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He stated. "This stuff is understandably hard to take the first time."

I let go a bitter chuckle. "Do I really want to know where I am? Do I really want to know why I'm in this cage?"

"Probably not," He replied. "But it would be better for you to know about it now before you learn from experience."

My teeth ground together and my loose hand clutched at the metal floor. "Stop with the dramatics and just tell me."

He seemed undistracted by my admittedly poor attitude. "You see all those people out there? The ones that aren't caged up like animals?" He started, nodding those who wandered freely around the base. "They ain't people, Steven."

I stared up at him, and replied sarcastically, "What are they? Aliens or something?"

"That's a damn good guess, Steven." He smiled. "Those people aren't the people they used to be. At least, not on the outside."

I groaned in frustration and got up from my seating position to stand up straight. My hair brushed the ceiling bars of the cage. "I don't have time for this."

Howson's smile dropped. "It ain't an easy thing to accept, Steven, but you're going to have to. Are you going to listen to me, boy?"

"Fine." I huffed reluctantly, resting heavily against the bars and half-heartedly watching the gruesome scenes outside. "Carry on."

He did. "Those people out there are being controlled. Every move they make, every word they speak. Everything they do is controlled by something called a Yeerk."

"A Yeerk?" I asked incredulously.

"A Yeerk." He repeated. "Ugly little slugs that crawl inside your brain. That big lake you see? All those ripples in the water are Yeerks, living just like they should."

The lake was about a hundred feet from our cage. From here, I could see the sludgy water, its surface bubbling with the movements of small grey things within. "Slugs…"

"Yeah, slugs. They ain't no better." Howson spat. "They crawl in through your ear. They take hold of your brain, and when they have their filthy little bodies wrapped around it, they have complete control. You spend all your time just watching it move you, listening to it as it uses your words, your own voice. There ain't nothing worse, Steven. Nothing worse."

"The officers…" I sighed. "The ones that brought me here…"

"All of them Yeerks." Howson concluded for me. "They all have those filthy pieces of slime wrapped around in their heads."

I felt a deep sense of hopelessness as I watched a small group of people walk past the cage. Somehow I just couldn't quite believe Howson's story, but I continued to play along nonetheless. "So why am I locked in this cage? What's _my_ purpose here?"

"You'll become one of them, Steven." He said calmly. "They'll put a Yeerk in your head, just like they did to me."

"People will notice I'm missing." I burst defensively. "My boss will notice when I don't come to work."

"Oh, you'll go to work." Howson nodded. "They use you as a disguise. They'll take you to work and do everything you would usually do. They don't want to give their game away."

"And why do they want me?"

He closed his eyes, a grim frown over his face. "They want us all, Steven."

My hands gripped tightly onto the bars, and I heard a growl under my own breath. "I can't believe that. You aren't telling me the truth."

Howson grew frustrated, and his voice rose above the distant cries around us. "You look out them bars, and you tell me I'm lying!"

I couldn't bear to look anymore. The scenes that remained in my head were too overwhelming, like something out of some cruel nightmare. That's exactly what I wanted it to be. I threw a fist against the bars, and smashed my head on the side. I wanted to wake up, but I wasn't able to.

It began to dawn on me, and soon, I was beginning to believe him.

"So what is this?" I sighed, unwilling but needing to receive more information. "Is this humanities great end or something?"

"Maybe," He shrugged. "It don't look too good, but there's a long way to go yet."

I looked around the great lake again. "How many people know about this place? Surely someone must have spotted a huge underground base."

He nodded. "People see it. Lots of people see it. But those people all end up in here." He paused. "I was one of those people."

I turned my head towards him. "Oh yeah?"

"It was nearly three years ago now. I took a detour through the park one night on the way home from the bar. We were watching the football, but I was feeling a little rough. When I got to the edge of the park, I saw a big hole open up under some water fountain. It just moved off of the ground. Next thing I know, someone had smashed me over the head. I woke up right here in this cage, just as scared and lost as you are now."

"You've been here for three years?" I asked.

"Near enough." He took a deep breath. "I come here every three days while the filth in my head feeds. When I'm not down here, I'm back at home, or I'm at work." I noticed the brief sign of a tear roll down his cheek. "They used me to take my family. They used _my_ mouth, and they used _my_ hands to bring them to this hell!" His voice had steadily risen to a bitter growl. "Now we're all slaves."

"I'm sorry…" I paused, letting him fight down his anger. "These Yeerks feed every three days?"

He raised a hand and pointed to the foul lake. "That's where they feed. They drop out of your ear, and you sit in your cage for those few hours, until the Yeerk is ready to leave. Those are the only hours of freedom we have."

"Our only hours of freedom? Locked in this tiny cage?"

"It's better than what's out there." He sighed.

There was a long, horrid silence as I tried to absorb all the information, but my mind was unfocused, fuzzed by the screams and howls that echoed off of the walls and the terrible realisation that there was no way out of this hell.

"My wife." I whispered load enough for him to hear. "They took her too."

"I'm sorry, man." He consoled.

"They said that she was going to Station 6. Where is it?"

Howson rose to his feet, having to hunch over to avoid banging his head, and he moved up beside me. His arm lifted between the thick bars and pointed off into the distance. His finger was aimed at one of the small villages that stood on the opposite side of the lake. All I could make out was a few squalid buildings. "Station 6." He indicated.

"Why is she so far away? Why separate us like this?" I asked, my voice full of anger.

"They station us according to how important they think we are. The stations with less important hosts are closer to the main entrances, in case of attack. They don't want more important hosts getting caught in a fight."

I remembered the officers describing my wife as "less important" as I was. I hated the idea of us being treated like chess pieces. My wife was in no way unimportant. "And how do they decide how important we are?"

"Your job." He said. "Your influence on society. Your ability to aid the Yeerk cause." He faced me. "What do you do?"

"I work in the hospital. Orthopedic ward."

He nodded and stared back out into the cavern. "An important job. An important one for the Yeerks, too."

"How would I be important to a bunch of mind-controlling slugs?" I grumbled.

"You'd be surprised at the number of bones that get snapped down here, man. But that ain't the only reason. You have the power to influence people. They'll use you to send more people down here."

I cringed at the thought, but I understood what he was getting at. Part of my job was to offer my patients advice. Could I really be used to advice people into coming down to this disgusting pit?

"What do you do?" I asked Howson.

"Weapons engineer." He revealed. "I make bombs."

"Bombs?" I raised an eyebrow. "That could be really useful in a place like this…"

He smiled. "Sometimes I wish I could. I want to blow this hell so that there's nothing left." His head dropped. "But it's impossible. And you never know who's going to be down here… I don't ever want to risk hurting my family again. For every filthy, stinking slug down here, there's another family man, another loving wife. Kids."

My scepticism was fast disappearing, dissolved by Howson's sincerity and the sounds of the people suffering around us. I just felt like bursting into tears, only I was holding it back to save whatever dignity I had remaining.

I asked the question that I had been too afraid to ask before. "Is there anyone who can stop this?"

Howson absorbed the question and moved back towards his corner, retaking his seat. "There are some who try. Andalites."

"What's an Andalite?"

"The ones who started this fucked-up mess in the first place." He spat.

That didn't fill me with much hope.

Howson continued, "There are a few here on Earth. They get in the way, take out a few Yeerks… That's about it." I sensed anger flowing from him, his eyes glaring down at the metal floor.

"You don't sound like a big fan of these Andalites."

His eyes traced back to mine. "They've killed friends. The only people I could truly talk to. Humans, Hork-Bajir. There were my cage-mates, and they were killed at the hands of the Andalite bandits."

Another shudder made its way up my back. "They don't sound much like allies…"

"They _are_ our allies," He said. "They've done a lot of good. But when they kill the Yeerks, they kill the hosts."

This situation was just getting better and better. I once again thought about my wife. They seemed to consider her less important. A horrible idea flowed into my head.

"Who gets killed?" I asked, dreading his response. "Who fights these Andalites?"

He sighed, equally dreading the reaction I might give. "Those who the Yeerks think are less vital to recruitment, or carry less influence."

I knew exactly what that meant. "My wife? Does that include my wife?!"

He smiled bitterly, offering me some consolidation. "Human hosts don't suffer many casualties. Unless your wife is good with a gun, she probably won't be doing much fighting."

I breathed a small sigh of relief. Brenda was an awful shot with a gun.

Howson's words had drawn my attention to the non-human figures that were also present in the base. I searched around and eventually spotted one of the Twig creatures. It was off in the distance, guarding the entrance to one of the barracks.

"What are those creatures?" I asked. "The big bladed ones."

"Those are Hork-Bajir." Howson informed me without even having to look.

"Hork-Bajir…" I repeated to myself. At least now I knew what Twig was.

Not that it mattered anymore.

I noticed another creature nearby. It was like a huge, yellow caterpillar, complete with rows of stubby peg legs and a grotesque, round mouth on top, surrounded by four red jelly eyes. "And those things? Those big caterpillars?"

"Taxxons." Howson said, his voice displaying the same disgust that I felt on the inside. "I've got a tip for you. Don't ever draw blood around those things."

"I don't intend to." I huffed. "Nor do I intend to be anywhere near one."

Howson shook his head sorrowfully. "I'm afraid you may not have a choice on that."

I rubbed at my face with my hands and turned away from the scene outside. "Is this it, then?" I asked him. "Is my life over now? Am I destined to live like some animal to be used by some alien slugs?"

Howson didn't reply. Somehow, I didn't think he needed to.

An hour passed. We sat in our cell, watching as the other cages around us emptied and filled with other desperate souls. Howson seemed to know a lot of them, and exchanged empty conversations with those who were close enough. His manner and tone were admirable. While others around us screamed and cried, he would encourage as many as he could, distracting their attentions from their impossible situations for as long as they were around. He was in almost complete control of his behaviour. Maybe spending three years in this hell had dulled its horror for him.

While he was talking to others, I would stand with my head between the bars of our cage, gazing over at the distant Station 6. Brenda was there somewhere. I doubted she would be in such fortunate company.

More hosts seemed to be arriving, and within that hour, each cage around us contained at least one individual, Human or Hork-Bajir. Like most other caged hosts, they screamed or yelled at passers-by, and the level of noise became unbearable. I sat down in the cage and covered my ears. Howson didn't even flinch, and did his best to quiet them down.

He was busy talking to the Human and Hork-Bajir contained in B-67, when two Hork-Bajir and two young, large men walked up to our cage. One of the men carried a notepad, and he seemed to be giving out orders.

By now, I had learned that all four of them would contain a Yeerk inside their heads. I couldn't help but gaze at their ears and wonder how the slugs would fit.

"Steven Reynolds." The man with the notepad said. "He's a new host. Take him to platform C."

The two Hork-Bajir fiddled with the lock of the cage, and I felt Howson's hand grab my shoulder from behind. I turned to look him in the eyes.

"It's time, Steven." He said sadly.

"Time for what?" I asked, voiced panicked.

"You're getting your Yeerk. I'm sorry, man."

I stuttered and looked back to the Hork-Bajir, who had now just finished opening the cage. "I won't let them." I uttered, resistant.

Howson sighed. "The more you kick, the harder it becomes. Just remember that no matter how much it taunts you, how much it makes you want to die, there is still hope, Steven. "

I shook my head as the Hork-Bajir slowly advanced. "I _won't_ let them take me, Howson."

But it didn't matter now. I threw a punch at one the Hork-Bajir as it approached, but it simply shrugged it off and grabbed my arm, restraining me. They dragged me from the cage, and the humans locked it behind me.

I kicked and I screamed, making clear my anger at their encroachment. From the corner of my eye, I saw Howson through the bars of my cage, and I saw his lips form words.

"Good luck, Steven. See you in three days."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

I was dragged to one of the great steel platforms that hung over the edge of the slimy lake. I'm afraid to say that any last ounce of dignity I had was finally lost, as I flailed and screamed pathetically in my captors grasp. My arms began to ache as I tried to pull them away from the disappointingly unaffected Hork-Bajir.

The pier extended out in front of me. It was like some horrible death sentence, a stump to kneel down over. We moved past two more Hork-Bajir who stood guard, and my feet clomped onto the hollow steel boards. The clicking of the Hork-Bajir toenails soon followed, and we stopped, staring out over the sludge that rippled below.

The cause of the ripples became much more detailed now. From the water rose the large slugs that Howson had told me so much about. They were larger than slugs that I could find in our backyard, with a few extra bodily structures that gave them their more alien appearance.

The sound of them moving through the sludge was not at all pleasant, though maybe that was just a physical manifestation of the inner bias I now held, that now caused an outward aversion.

My Hork-Bajir captors pushed me down. I resisted, but I quickly found myself on my knees, their arms clung tight around my upper arms.

"Get off me you fu-"

They threw my head forward and down into the warm sludge. My entire head was submerged, held tight in place by a large Hork-Bajir claw. I screamed, bubbles rising stiffly through the foul water. I couldn't open my eyes, as the initial impact of the water caused them to sting. All I could do was experience the sensations. Wet objects slid over my face, brushing swiftly over my facial features.

One of them stayed for longer than the rest. It impacted my nose and pressed against it, before it made its way over my cheek, towards my left ear.

This was the one. This was my Yeerk. I screamed again and tried to shake my head free, but the Yeerk was quick to latch onto my ear.

The following feeling was akin to a wet willy (something I last experienced way back when I was in school), except that instead of a hard, bony finger, it was a squelchy, pulsating piece of mush. I cringed at the hideous feeling of it squeezing into all the spaces within my ear. The pressure made me feel like my head was about to explode, and my other ear was experiencing a major popping sensation.

But then it ended. The Yeerk had manipulated its body and allowed the pressure to release. By now though, it was deep inside my ear, numbing and lubricating my ear drum. It must have been some collection of chemicals and processes unknown to me, but the Yeerk managed to crawl through the ear drum, leaving behind what felt like a numbing, hot liquid. After it had finally crawled through, the ear drum returned to its original state, as far as I could tell.

A sensation of drowning took over me, and my head felt dazed, but at the moment the Yeerk was completely inside my head, I was hoisted up from the disgusting water. I looked around, still in control of my body, but it was as if I was succumbing to an anaesthetic. My movement was slow, and everything looked fuzzy and non-distinct. My legs were no longer kicking, even when the Hork-Bajir carefully lifted me into an upright position.

That's when it started. I was turning my head to look at one of the Hork-Bajir, when my eyes suddenly tracked back to stare out in front of me. It was brief, and I was then able to achieve my goal in looking up at my captor, but the momentary loss of control sent me into a panic. My stupor contained the frenzy that I would have otherwise released.

Soon, I found parts of my body seemingly acting on their own volition. My eyes darted around without my consent.

My captors released me, and I stood perfectly still. I wanted to kick. I wanted to scream. I wanted to push the Hork-Bajir on my right into the pool simply to humiliate it as petty revenge.

I could do none of those things. All I did was form a few words.

"Testing, testing, one, two…"

What?

((I apologise. My last host was a sound engineer.))

I felt like screaming, and I did. On the inside, anyway.

((Hey, quiet down please.)) the voice in my head spoke again. I couldn't really explain it. I could hear the words, but it was as if it were my own brain talking to me. I suppose, in a way, it was.

((You could say that.)) the voice continued. ((What you hear is what I wish for you to hear. I understand that you are a new host, but you'll get used to it quite quickly.))

Was he hearing my thoughts? Was every vision and phrase that passed peripherally through my head his to see?

((I'm afraid so, Steven.))

I tried to address him directly. ((Get out of my head, slug!))

((Slug? You know, I find that rather offensive.)) He sneered.

((That's offensive?)) I growled. ((How about taking over my body? I think I _owe_ you offense!)) I gave him a few more choice words, ones that he would find a lot more offensive than simply "slug".

The Yeerk paid no notice, and instead made his (our? my?) way off of the pier.

((I suppose I may as well introduce myself.)) He stated casually over my constant inner protests. ((My name is Yarfush three-one-seven. I am your new master. And don't worry about introducing yourself, I already know you well enough.))

((Shut up…)) I groaned. ((Just shut up and get out!))

((I'm only following orders, Steven.)) He said formally. ((You may as well get comfortable, because I'm not leaving.))

The next few minutes were spent wandering around the complex, mostly in front of the host cages. Yarfush was getting used to my body. It made me sick, and I made that perfectly clear to him throughout. I had stopped screaming and cursing. Now I was just being as stubborn and difficult as possible. If I couldn't force him out, I would annoy him to the point when he would want to leave.

((What an interesting man you are, Steven.)) Yarfush commented as we strolled past a small group of Taxxons.

((What a horrible piece of shit _you_ are, Yeerk.)) I replied.

He ignored my petty insult. ((You had a Hork-Bajir in your home for two years? Ah yes, 44-HB-72. The juvenile escapee, no less. The Visser was very interested in finding him.))

((And you killed him.)) I growled bitterly.

((Me? That was me, was it?)) He replied mockingly. ((Do you take pride in making such sweeping generalisations? I had nothing to do with it, Steven.))

He rested my body against a wall and inspected my fingers. ((You did well to stay hidden for two years. You and your wife, Brenda.))

((Don't you say anything about her, Yeerk.))

He chuckled in my head, and it echoed through my body like some horrible illness. ((I'll have to at some point, Steven. We'll be seeing her again tomorrow.))

((What do you mean?))

((When we go home.)) He said. ((I assume she will still be here for a little while longer, but she will return home at… oh… seven o'clock tomorrow. What shall we make for dinner? Mac and cheese sounds good.))

I felt another bout of rage building within me, and I once again gave him a few insults to bear. Yarfush, however, did not show any signs of cracking, and once he had accustomed himself to my body, he received some orders and filed some reports, and we were heading back up the long tunnel with two of the officers from before.

The officers drove me home and left me in the driveway. The house was just as we had left it, except that the front door had been re-fitted. Yarfush took my body inside and made some quick observations. The door looked a little battered, but it wasn't too noticeable. The wall to our left, however, was very noticeable. Twig's body had been removed, but the wall was covered in large blood stains from where he had been shot. The blood had pooled on the floor and dried.

((Great,)) Yarfush moaned. ((They leave me to clear _this_ up?))

I cursed him again, appalled at his lack of empathy. He shrugged it off brazenly and fetched the appropriate tools for the job. Somehow, he knew exactly where everything was.

Once the last of Twig's remains was cleaned up, he packed everything away and gazed up at the clock that hung up above the dinner table. It was five in the morning.

I was exhausted, and I definitely needed sleep after today's events, but Yarfush had other ideas.

((I'm afraid we can't sleep, Steven.)) He informed. ((We have to be up for work in two hours.))

((We're seriously going to work?!)) I fumed.

((Of course! Dr Steven Reynolds is _never _away from work.)) He giggled to himself. ((We just need some coffee. I know how much you enjoy your caffeine.))

((I enjoy it more when I'm alone.)) I grunted.

((We could use these spare hours for some bonding.)) He suggested. ((We haven't exactly gotten off to the best start, Steven.))

((Humans don't tend to greet each other by crawling into each other's ears…))

Yarfush paused, midway through making the coffee.

((We are very different, but that doesn't mean that we can't find some common ground now, does it?))

((I have nothing in common with you!)) I barked.

((How closed-minded…)) I heard him tut. ((Do you honestly think that I enjoy this job, Steven? Do you think I take pleasure in causing you and other beings such discomfort?))

((Yes, I _do_ think that.))

((Well, I suppose I do enjoy the freedom and the senses that it gives me…)) He chuckled. ((But there are things that I don't like, Steven. Things that I wish could change. I'm like you in one way, Steven: I can't stand my job.))

((Am I supposed to sympathise with that?)) I asked as he took the coffee into the living room. The TV was still on.

((I don't expect you to. However, I could help you.))

I uttered a derisive laugh. ((You? Help _me_?))

((Helping you will ultimately make things easier for me, Steven.)) He said. ((I see that for the last two years, you've been chasing a promotion. You've been too much of a coward to demand it, though.))

I remained silent, slightly offended at being called a coward.

((I will get you that promotion, Steven.)) He spoke with confidence. ((Perhaps then, you will do me the great favour of not acting like a petty child in reaction to everything I say.))

((I'm not going to compromise with you. Not after what your kind has done.))

((We'll see, Steven.)) He gulped down the coffee and lifted my body from the seat. He stretched, and shook my head to shake off the desperate need for sleep.

Yarfush observed the state of the house after he had put the mug back into the kitchen. He spotted a large dent in the living room ceiling where Twig's head blades had caught.

((We'll get this place fixed up.)) He considered. ((Re-plaster that dent for a start. Get some new flooring. Replace all the damaged door frames… You really should have trimmed that Hork-Bajir's toenails, you know. Look at those holes in the floor!))

((Why are you so interested in the state of our home?)) I queried.

((Your home is my home, now.)) He chirped matter-of-factly.

((This will never be your home, Yeerk. Not as long as I'm alive.))

He again ignored me. ((I could make this place so much more habitable. Your wife will appreciate it, I'm sure.))

I choked a little at such a suggestion. Was he trying to prove something? Did he somehow think he could treat my wife better than I could?

I hated that more than anything else he had said or done to me, but it also gave me a deep sense of anxiety. He had promised me a promotion, and now he wanted to improve our home. Something about all of that felt so defeating...

In those few hours, he gave me no time to sleep off the horrors that I had seen. He gave me no chance to mourn the loss of my body, Brenda, or Twig's death. He was far too busy judging our home, cleaning away things he found unappealing, and drinking vast amounts of coffee to keep my body full of energy.

After he had finished throwing Twig's sleeping blankets in the trash, he looked out of the window to watch as the Sun rose over the line of trees. He admired the view, indulging in the senses that my eyes granted him.

He munched on a couple of slices of toast, put on some new clothes after a shower, and we drove to work.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

I despised work with a passion. I never looked forward to heading into my dreary office, but today, I dreaded it even more than usual. Yarfush was equally unhappy, having recalled my memory and decided that my experiences were enough to put him off.

I made it as difficult as possible for him, but in my weary state, my insults were slurred and uninspired. No amount of coffee could lighten our spirits, but it didn't stop Yarfush putting on a convincing show for my work colleagues and the patients.

I was frankly amazed that despite the lack of sleep and the short amount of time that he had occupied my body, he was able to imitate me with such expertise and consistency. He had delved into my mind so deeply that he would know every reaction I would make to any given situation. No one would suspect a thing.

He did do some things a bit differently. He wasn't quite a sarcastic with the patients, nor did he actively avoid contact with my more irritating work peers.

He even smiled once or twice.

I became jealous. In spite of the tired state of my body, he was enjoying my job more than I ever did when I had my own head. He didn't enjoy it, per se, but he didn't find it as mind-numbingly tedious as I did.

Several patients visited my office this morning, the last of whom was Mrs Rigby.

"Are you alright, Dr Reynolds?" She commented as she entered the room, noticing my baggy, blackened eyes with her own old, wrinkled ones.

"Oh, it's just a lack of sleep." Yarfush replied with my mouth. "I've been busier than usual these last few days."

It was a lie anyone could believe, but I was too tired to make a sarcastic comment to him.

Like the other appointments that day, Yarfush was able to perform me almost perfectly, only really skipping out the bitterness I would usually ration out to the patients. Mrs Rigby had seen me for a number of appointments in recent weeks, and she didn't suspect a thing.

Yarfush also did one other thing differently, as well. In the morning, before the appointments began, he had searched around in the staff lounge where small pamphlets and advertisements were placed. He had pulled out an A4 poster advertising The Sharing.

I remembered that organisation from the one time I had taken Brenda there. I was curious as to why he wanted it, and why he stuck it to my office door. He proceeded to advertise for The Sharing at the end of each appointment, suggesting that my patients give it a try for whatever reason he felt best suited their current situations. This time, however, he did not advertise, nor did he even draw Mrs Rigby's attention to the poster on the door.

((Aren't you going to suggest that she go to that awful community organisation, like you did to the rest of them?)) I asked him as Mrs Rigby was leaving.

((She's far too old, Steven. She would be of no use to us.))

Something clicked in my sleep-deprived brain. ((Wait. That's why you've been pushing it? Is The Sharing some kind of recruitment centre for you?))

((You took your time figuring that out.)) He mocked.

((I'm too tired to think, slug.)) I huffed. My mind recalled the time we had taken the ill-fated trip to The Sharing's barbeque. Nothing seemed suspicious. I never saw any huge rusty lakes. I never saw great ugly caterpillars or dirty Yeerk slugs.

Yarfush chuckled, delving into my thoughts. ((Of course you wouldn't, Steven. We keep it all undercover. You should have stuck around a little longer, come to a few more meetings. We could have met a lot sooner!))

After Yarfush was satisfied with the state of my office, we headed off to the staff lounge to liven my body with more coffee.

David was there today.

Well, his body was.

He had been infested, just like me and Brenda. When the staff lounge was empty, our Yeerks dropped the pretence and talked without the need for disguise.

David's Yeerk described how both I and David were captured. I assumed that his Yeerk was trying to infuriate and upset me. It wanted to let me know exactly where I went wrong, what gave me away to the Yeerks. I was too exhausted to express my anger.

According to his Yeerk, David had sent off Twig's DNA results to three work colleagues at the University of California. David had later informed them, while I was driving him home from our house, to discard the results. However, one of his colleagues hosted a Yeerk, who was suspicious as to why results would be sent, and then later asked to be discarded. He had brought up the results and instantly recognised that the source of the sample did not occur naturally on Earth. He informed the Yeerks in our area after he had identified the sample as Hork-Bajir, and they infiltrated David's computer, right here in this hospital.

They had found David's personal notebook. From that, they found who had given him the sample. Us.

The clean-up job was carefully but masterfully done. The two uninfested colleagues at the University were captured and infested, in case they brought the results back up. They searched for David, and found him in his home.

Then they looked for us. They took out the escaped Hork-Bajir, and then captured us to be slaves.

The story made me sick to my stomach, and I found myself hating Twig for all the damage he had brought. We had been taken prisoner, probably for the rest of our lives. We may die as slaves trapped within our own bodies. Because of him, five people would be doomed to such a horrible fate.

Then I stopped myself. It wasn't Twig's fault for what had occurred. It was my fault. It was Brenda's fault. We were both responsible for this. We had allowed Twig into our home, and now we and three other innocent people were suffering the consequences.

I found myself wallowing in self-pity. I expected to hear a mocking laugh from Yarfush, but instead he remained quiet. He was allowing me to mourn my own mistakes.

We were both glad when the work shift was over. Yarfush took our car and rushed home. We made our way inside and immediately crashed down on the sofa for a couple of hours sleep.

We got about two hours of much-needed rest before the front door slammed out in the corridor. A sense of dread once again flushed through me as my consciousness returned. I knew who caused the door to slam. I didn't want to see her. Not like this.

But Yarfush was eager to meet his new partner, and he lifted my groggy body from the couch and into the kitchen area.

Brenda was stood at the dinner table, putting down her things. She turned to look me in the eyes, and I swear that I could have burst into tears, if my tear ducts were under my control.

The smile that breached her face just made it worse.

"Hello." She… no… _it_ said. An arm rose between us. "Decran four-two-two."

Yarfush raised my hand to connect with hers in a formal handshake. "Yarfush three-one-seven. Good to meet you, Decran."

I blasted my opinions to him in my head, but he just told me to remain quiet. He had prepared for such a situation, and pushed me to the side to continue his introduction.

"It seems like we will be spending a lot of time together." He said to Decran… my wife.

"I look forward to it." She replied. "I can't wait to finally sleep in a real bed, to eat the wonderful human foods…" She paused and grimaced. "However, my host is most infuriating."

Yarfush nodded his head. "My host has calmed significantly since we were first introduced."

((Calm?!)) I shouted at him, and proceeded to unleash another barrage of verbal abuse at him.

"…Until now, of course." Yarfush continued. "He is easily riled up."

"This one refuses to stop screaming." Decran sneered. "I've been trying to find a way to shut her up."

I just wanted to strangle the Yeerk. I wanted to rip its slimy body from Brenda's ear and throw it in the nearest blender. I aimed my rage not at Yarfush, but to my hands.

To my great surprise, my right hand twitched, fingers spreading before they quickly relaxed, and Yarfush regained control.

Decran smirked. "Feisty."

Yarfush seemed a little annoyed. "I would appreciate you not angering my host."

I was calm again now, but still bubbling with an inner rage that Yarfush was desperate to keep under control.

"I'm sorry, Yarfush." Decran apologised. "I've only ever had Taxxon hosts. They are more focused on their hunger than they are focused for each other. I am not used to handling these social hosts."

"Taxxon hosts." Yarfush hummed. "You must have been promoted."

"It certainly feels like it." Decran smiled. I hated the Yeerk using Brenda's smile, but Yarfush hushed down my rage yet again. She continued, "I have learnt from my host that you are a doctor. A good host."

"The work is tedious." Yarfush admitted. "I have been assigned to recruitment."

Decran nodded. "Before this host, I did a lot of work around combat situations."

I froze, and had I been in control of my body, it would have gone ghost-white.

"But this body isn't suited to combat." Decran added. "It can't shoot a gun. The host's job has no real potential for recruitment. I'm yet to be assigned a role."

I felt a great sense of relief. At least now, Brenda would not be killed in combat.

Yarfush smiled and moved the conversation along. "This house has suffered considerably over the last two years. I plan to redecorate."

((This is _not_ your home, Yarfush!)) I reminded him.

((Come on, Steven, even you know that this home is in a dire state.)) He replied. I could have argued, but he could read my thoughts. I couldn't deny to him that, yes, I considered my home to be in a less than adequate condition.

Decran nodded. "I see you have already started. I will make some calls tomorrow. It's not as if I have anything better to do."

Yarfush made Mac and cheese that night. He knew the exact recipe that both I and Brenda enjoyed. Just the right amount of salt, just the right amount of cheese… It was then that I came to a few horrible realisations.

After less than a day of inhabiting my body, Yarfush already knew me completely. He knew my personal tastes, he knew my favourite television shows, and he knew all my favourite clothes. He even knew of my fantasies, my dreams, and he would make that known by commenting on them, telling me how I couldn't achieve them. I didn't appreciate his brutal honesty, and I quickly found myself cowering in some dark corner in my head, trying desperately to forget what was happening.

But I couldn't close my eyes. I saw what he saw, I felt what he felt. I felt his pain when he caught his finger on a pin in perfect detail, but I could not tend to the injury myself.

Perhaps the worst thing was that he actually started to know me better than I knew myself. He saw all my qualities, he saw all my potential, and he could judge it like I couldn't. I used to judge my own ability behind a wall of biases. Guilt and pride often shaped my opinions of myself, things that Yarfush did not have to pay attention to. It was a horrible feeling. I felt tiny, insignificant, a guest in my own head with nowhere else to go.

This was a torture that I never thought was possible. I never thought it would be this soul-destroying.

And it had only been a day. I thought of people like Howson, people who had been hosts for years. How could they possibly cope with such a hopeless life? How could Howson go down to those filthy cages every three days and manage a single comforting smile?

My screams for freedom from Yarfush stopped that night. They were pointless, simply dividing myself from the only thing that was now personal to me. I had lost my wife, my home, and my body. All I had now was Yarfush.

((Now you are beginning to understand.)) He said, unravelling me from my thoughts. We were sat in the living room, watching another awful game show. Brenda was on the opposite side of the sofa.

((How can you do this?)) I asked glumly. ((How can you put people through such torture?))

Yarfush sighed. ((I understand why you feel that way, Steven. Believe me, I do. But this is what we must do. This is how Yeerks live now. This is how we have progressed. You seem to think that I take great pleasure in your suffering, that I enjoy hearing your cries and your begging. I don't, Steven. Some do, but I don't. You don't seem to understand that if I don't take your body and fulfil my orders, my life will end. This isn't just my job, this is my life.))

I sighed, depressed at being unable to convince him. How could I persuade him if his life depended on suppressing mine? I slumped further into my own head, drowning myself in my own self-pity. My life was over, and though Yarfush felt an extent of sympathy towards it, he showed me no mercy. He would drink coffee, watch my favourite TV shows, and grant me other trivial things that I enjoyed, but without my freedom, it all meant nothing, and it only reminded me of the things that I had lost.

There was nothing that could console me, and Yarfush stopped his half-hearted attempts at trying. I was merely a voice in his head now, nothing more than the occasional annoyance. A lot of the time, I wanted to keep it that way. I didn't want to be there anymore. Death would be a welcome release.

Yarfush slept well that night. I didn't. The feeling of being awake while your body is essentially asleep is a strange one. My body was almost completely still and unmoving, while my mind struggled to find comfort. Despite the lack of energy, I simply couldn't sleep.

This was the rest of my life, and I was slowly beginning to accept it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

It wasn't long before Yarfush had to return to the underground Yeerk complex to feed. It was the weekend, so I didn't have to go to work, but Yarfush had arranged to accompany Decran down there, so we had to wait until she finished her work hours.

Decran had been nervous. At least, that's what she told Yarfush. She was unsure about what kind of post she would be handed, and she was certain that the decision would be made today. After feeding, she had to meet up with a sub-Visser to receive orders. It wouldn't be a place on the front lines, and she got the feeling that her assignment would require dropping her current human job to work in a recruitment position elsewhere. Either that or she would be granted a job down in the base, which would require that she spend most of her time in that hell. It could mean that I would rarely see her, if at all.

To be honest, I didn't really care. I couldn't stand seeing Decran, knowing that somewhere inside, Brenda was crying, screaming, pleading for escape. It shook me to my core.

So Decran returned home at around seven o'clock, and as soon as she arrived, we left for the base. We took the car and drove into town to a new pool entrance, one that had easier access for two low-level human controllers.

Controllers. That's what we were.

That's what Yarfush told me, anyway.

We parked up outside the cinema on the edge of town and entered the large building. Yarfush led the way to the public restrooms, where a couple of entrances had been placed inside two out-of-order cubicles. We separated into our respective restrooms, and when no one was looking, Yarfush opened up the cubicle and we stood inside. Under the sink was a small switch. There was also one hidden in the paper holder. When switched together, the back wall of the cubicle shuddered and opened. With a few audible squeaks, the entire wall disappeared, unveiling a deep dark staircase, much narrower than the last one I had seen.

We descended, the wall closing behind us. Like last time, the staircase was illuminated with a deep red lighting. The steps spiralled down and emerged into the horrible cavern, Decran appearing from a neighbouring tunnel shortly after us.

Our Yeerks had been assigned to different stations. Decran had to make her way to Station 6, whereas I had to go to Station 2, so we instantly had to part ways. Decran went right, Yarfush went left.

It was a long and soul-destroying trip to Station 2. We passed by several stations, each with its own host caging area. The caged hosts reacted as normal to passing controllers, their cries and begging digging right down into my heart. Yarfush tried to hide his own pity, but it was almost as noticeable as mine.

That was a strange revelation that I had uncovered over the few days that we had known each other. Yarfush, despite his job, his loyalty and his pride in his own species, hated these walks just as much as I did. He had been walking through this Yeerk pool for years, and had acclimatised to it, but he still felt a slight sense of injustice. It was only his duty keeping him loyal to those who imposed such torture.

We headed straight for the drop-off pier. There was a line present, but it died down quickly. Our turn arrived soon.

((Well, Steven,)) Yarfush said, after almost complete silence since we arrived in the base. ((You will have a few hours to yourself. I'm sure that you won't miss me.))

((I will miss you about as much as I miss contracting a fever.))

((I thought as much.)) He grumbled. ((I will see you in a few hours. Not literally, of course.))

He knelt my body over the pier and turned my head so that I was facing to the right. There was a horrible, squelchy sensation as Yarfush began to make his way out.

Suddenly, I had control. He had loosened himself from my brain. I could move my hands, my legs, my head, but after three days without such luxuries, my movement was slow and clumsy. I couldn't form words with my lips, I couldn't lift my body from the deck. I could have moved my head, if a Hork-Bajir claw hadn't just secured it in place.

There was pain as Yarfush squeezes his way through my ear, and I could see his horrible, slimy body in the corner of my eye. By now, I was regaining the ability to effectively control my body, but it was still too sluggish to lift a hand up and grab at him. It wouldn't matter anyway, because as time went on, the Hork-Bajir were slowly securing my body, now grabbing my arms in case of such a rebellion.

Yarfush dropped from ear and splashed into the rusty pool liquid, and my new captors lifted me to my feet. I had regained enough control now to curse his name and spit mucus into the pool. I didn't have the energy to struggle in the Hork-Bajir grasp, not that I would have been able to achieve much, anyway.

Two new Hork-Bajir took over and walked me to my cell. I threw a few choice insults at them, but the Yeerks were professional enough to ignore me.

They opened up B-68 and pushed me lightly inside, quick to lock the cage door behind me.

I did not dart for the bars to pass on a few bitter insults. Now that I had my own tear ducts back, I just sat in a corner and cried.

I was not a person who would ever usually cried. I never allowed myself to. But after the horrible last three days, the emotion had all built up behind Yarfush's controlling barrier, and now that he was gone, the pressure was being released. I cried like a child, pulling my knees to my chest and folding my arms over my head.

It was undignified, and I didn't quite feel like myself. After enough tears were released, I stifled what remained and rubbed at my sore eyes, uncurling myself from my isolated ball and finally taking a look around my new home.

"Welcome back, Steven."

Howson was here again, sat at the opposite end of the cage, partially hidden by the shadows of the bars. He bore a sorrowful smile. He had watched my little breakdown and waited for it to end before he spoke.

I looked at him as a greeting, too ashamed to utter any words. Instead, I gave him a polite nod.

There was someone else here as well. Sat to Howson's close right was a Hork-Bajir, almost completely lost in the shadows, but the intimidating form was unmistakable.

"It's tough." Howson spoke. "Ain't nothing tougher."

I nodded and finally replied. "I can't… I don't know what I should do."

"There's nothing you can do." Howson stated bitterly. "This is our life now."

I wiped away a rogue tear from my cheek and slumped back against the bars. "It's only been three days… I don't think I could survive another."

Howson kept his eyes on me, a pitying gaze. "I felt exactly the same way, Steven. And yet here I am, three years on."

"How do I cope?" I asked, practically begging.

"There is no general rule, Steven. We each need to find our own way." He sighed and readjusted his body on the cold, uncomfortable floor. "Some of us compromise. We find any common ground that we can. We take any comfort that we can get."

"I understand that." I replied. "Yarfush… The Yeerk tries to convince me. He lets me watch TV, he lets me eat my favourite foods and does things as I wish for them to be done. But… it's not me. I'm not doing those things. My wife is there, but… that creature isn't my wife. He takes me to work and… and…" I couldn't really bring myself to admit it, but Howson was looking at me expectantly. "He does it all so much better."

Howson looked glum, "A lot of people feel that way, at first."

"You mean it will change?" I grumbled.

"It usually does. No one is better at playing you than you yourself. The Yeerks operate without the sense of personal self that comes with a host, and at first, they are able to bypass all of your emotions that would get in your way. But they soon succumb to it themselves."

I shook my head. "I don't understand."

"The Yeerks are able to push those emotions aside, but they become a part of the Yeerks, Steven. They spend so long in your head that they become a part of _you_. Your emotion becomes their emotion. Your mental barriers become theirs. Soon enough, your Yeerk will develop the same emotional states as you. It becomes like a clone."

"This happened to you?"

"It happens to all of us, Steven." He smiled. "The Yeerk will still follow orders, will still oppress and torture you, but you will become more attached over time. You become one living being."

I sat in silence, contemplating that. It seemed so awful, becoming so finely in tune with Yarfush that we both knew each other inside out, operating like one single being. Would that really make things any easier? I doubted it, but I trusted Howson enough to accept it for now.

"Do you ever see your family?" I brought up to Howson. "I mean, without the Yeerks in their heads? Do you ever get to talk to them."

Howson seemed to start his answer, but then he hesitated and stopped himself. I looked up curiously to him, then to the Hork-Bajir who was sat to his right. It's red, slit eyes were staring back at me.

Seeing our eyes connecting, Howson thought it was best to introduce us. "Steven, this is Hap Damal. She has been sharing this cage with me for over a year." Then, to the Hork-Bajir, "Hap, this is Steven Reynolds. He's new."

There was no handshake, nor any sort of formal greeting. Hap looked down to the floor and clutched her knees against her chest, resigning herself to the dark corner.

I raised an eyebrow to Howson. "Your friend is quiet."

Howson shot me a look like I had said something wrong, like I should stay quiet on the matter. I raised my hands in apology. Obviously, the Hork-Bajir was not up for talking.

"Is there anyone else who comes to this cage?" I asked Howson, putting the awkward introduction aside.

He nodded. "Three, including Hap. Two more humans, but I don't see them as often. I'm sure you'll meet them soon enough."

Three days ago, I would have laughed that off, certain that I could find some way out. Now, I simply agreed and began to imagine what the two people would be like.

Once again, I felt utterly defeated.

The following hours passed in much the same way as last time. As I sat in the cage feeling sorry for myself, Howson found comfort in giving it to others around us. The base was busier today, and every cage around us housed at least two hosts each. The noise was again deafening, and I was still not quite used to it.

The time alone in the cage allowed me time to think. For the past three days, Yarfush was always there; my thoughts constantly surveyed and commented upon. I had no secrecy, no privacy. I was afraid of thinking personal thoughts.

Now I could summarise the situation in my head without Yarfush around to haunt me, but the more I thought about it, the more depressed I became. I found myself gazing subconsciously through the metal bars, over at Station 6. Maybe Brenda was doing the same. Maybe she was sat in silence, running every confused thought through her head. Or maybe she was like most of the others: Screaming, pleading her captors for mercy.

Tears were welling up in my eyes again, but I held them back and tried to remain strong. My emotions would not be allowed to get the better of me.

Howson noticed me sat up against the bars and knelt by my side. "Hey, man."

"Howson." I greeted nonchalantly.

"You know, ain't nothing wrong about screaming like a baby."

I huffed and looked in the opposite direction. "I don't need to."

"I see it in you." He stated. "It's obvious to everyone that you're just bottling it all up. It's not healthy."

"I don't need to!" I repeated angrily.

"I told you before, Steven." Howson sighed. "These are the only times you get to speak for yourself. The _only_ time. Don't waste it in your own personal bubble, 'cos it ain't going to help."

"I don't want to talk!" I seethed. "I've had that damn Yeerk in my head for three days. I want time to myself!"

He kept his voice down, wary of those around us. "It would be better if you talked about it, Steven."

"Talk about what, Howson?" I snapped. "Talk about how I'm a prisoner in my own home?! Talk about how I've lost my wife to some filthy Yeerk?! Should I tell you about how I lie awake while my body sleeps, sitting in bed wondering if I can ever be myself again?! How about I talk about having to sit in some dirty cage every three days, my only hours of freedom listening to hundreds of people screaming and crying and wanting to die?! My life isn't worth living anymore, nor is it worth making it any worse by listening to everyone else's problems!"

I turned to face Howson and stopped. He was looking at me angrily, the first time I had really seen such disgust in his eyes. It drew my attention to the Hork-Bajir who had remained quietly in the corner this whole time. She was growling.

"Human shut up!" Hap boomed from her corner.

Howson rushed to Hap's side and tried to calm her down, but she wasn't going to let it slip.

"Human think things so bad! Human think that nothing worse!" She barked in that typical guttural Hork-Bajir tone. "Human think that human live in hell. But human still have home!"

Howson continued trying to stop this rant. He tried to pat her on the shoulder or divert her furious gaze, but she gently pushed him aside.

"Human come here for few hours, then go home. Go home to eat human food, watch human picture box. Human have own bed! Have family at home, too. See family. Still hope for family, still touch family. Live in comfort! Still do things that make human happy! Yet human still complain!"

I grew angry myself at such an outburst, and opened my mouth to shout her back down, but a Hork-Bajir voice wins over a human voice any day.

"Human have those things. What does Hap have? Hap have no home. Yeerk makes Hap eat sawdust and pills. Hap never sit in trees. Hap not even have bed! Sleep on cold, wet floor when not in cage." I saw a tear or two drip from her furious eyes. "Human have family, but Hap have no family. Hap family all die or lost. Hap made to have _kawatnoj_… child. Give child name, love child. Yeerks take child away from Hap. Never see again."

My own fury diminished, and I found myself searching for the appropriate response, but Hap had still not finished. Her eyes dropped to the ground, refusing to look at mine.

"Yeerk make Hap spend all time underground, pushing friend's heads under pool water. Hap cry to Yeerk to stop, but Yeerk say "Hap stupid, Hap stop complaining"…" Her tone quietened and softened to a bitter, spiteful whisper. "Now Yeerk changed. New Yeerk for Hap. Hap… go to front line. Fight. Die. Hap going to die." Her eyes darted back to me "_That _is why Hap is quiet."

Now the tears were flowing freely, the anger subsided. She shoved herself back into her corner and curled into a ball. Howson shook his head at me, disappointed, and then went to her side to comfort.

I was frozen in place, not sure whether to express confusion at some unjust outburst against me, or whether to be disgusted with myself for my self-important attitude. I honestly felt that I was in the worst position imaginable. I thought it could get no worse.

But Hap was right. I didn't know the half of it. I had been so self-obsessed and stubborn that I couldn't see that there were those worse off than myself. The outburst wasn't unjust. I needed to realise that I still had some hope. I still had small things from my own life to hold onto. Many others had nothing.

I was disgusted with myself, even more so when Hap was taken away.

Howson comforted her right up until her last moments in the cage. He hugged her, held her hand, and she had eventually calmed.

"I'm sorry." I said to Howson after she had gone.

He knew that I had become riddled with guilt, and after his initial infuriation at me, he had signalled his forgiveness. "It's okay, man. You're new here. You'll learn how to channel your emotions."

I shook my head, still not completely satisfied with my apology. "I didn't know things could get that bad."

Howson smiled. It was a sad smile. "You're right. You didn't know. Now you do."

"Will she ever come back?" I asked gently.

"I doubt it." He said, his eyes lowering to the steel floor. "The front line is a death sentence for the Hork-Bajir. They bear the brunt of the Andalite bandit attacks. Hap will probably die."

I felt sick, and I once again found myself cursing the Yeerks under my breath.

For the first time that I had witnessed, Howson shed his share of tears. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but they were there.

Howson soon left to receive his refreshed Yeerk. I spent the next hour or so talking to those in neighbouring cages, comforting and being comforted in the hopes and fears of others.

I felt better that way.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Monday again.

As usual, Yarfush was to spend the day impersonating me almost flawlessly, and now that my body was recovering and falling back into a sensible sleeping pattern, he found it much easier. As did I.

I remained quieter since the weekend. There was no way I could stay sane if I pushed him away and tried to pretend he wasn't there. I had to put up with him. I even became less sarcastic, less bitter at his complete control over me. I was still acrimonious of course, and I would have given anything for my body and my life back, but while he was here, residing in my head, I had no choice but to keep things civil.

Today went smoother than regular Mondays. Despite my unending hatred of Yarfush, I couldn't deny his intellect and, I hate to admit, his willingness to keep me happy. At least, as happy as a master can keep his slave. He treated me to coffee whenever I wanted it. He put programmes on the television that I would normally enjoy watching.

On Sunday, we watched the football, and he cheered along with me.

My head was spinning. How could one be both a horrible, merciless torturer and a friendly, generous benefactor, at the same time? I supposed that it was a compromise he had to make, something that would benefit the both of us in the long run.

Today, Yarfush was deep in consideration. He was distant, almost troubled.

((You're quiet.)) I told him as the last morning appointment came to an end.

((I am.)) He agreed. ((Things are changing. Things that I feel I may have to adapt to.))

He had been like this since he received his last briefing from his sub-Visser. Obviously, he felt like something big was going to affect him in the near future, but he refused to tell me what it was.

((And…)) I mumbled. ((Are you going to tell me?))

((You have asked me that on multiple occasions, Steven. I will not tell you until I know that it will affect us. It is not something that I wish for you to share with your fellow cage peers. It is nothing to concern you, and be sure that it probably isn't a big deal. It isn't important.))

I sensed sincerity in his voice, and I decided to drop it. ((Alright then. If that's the case, there must be something else on your mind.))

((Yes, there is.)) He replied, removing himself from the office desk and heading out of the door.

I expected him to grab a coffee from the staff lounge and converse with Johnson. But he wasn't heading in that direction, nor was he heading in the direction of David's top-floor laboratory or to any other work-peers office. Instead, we were heading for the main office.

We were heading for my boss, Dan McGregor's office.

((Why are we going there?)) I asked, sounding perhaps a little panicked.

((Do you remember what I promised you on the day we met?)) He responded, speaking like I was being an idiot. ((I told you that I would get you a promotion.))

((No chance.)) I grumbled. ((You expect to walk into his office, plead for a raise, and Dan would somehow give it to you? I thought you could read my mind! You should know that Dan is tighter than a fly's ass.))

((I don't expect that.)) He said, a hint of confidence in his voice.

((Wait, what are you going to do?))

Yarfush was silent again. He came to Dan's office door and knocked. That was where the politeness ended.

Dan was sat in his office chair, a computer buzzing to his left, and several neatly stacked piles of paper to his right. He was a tall man, eleven years older than me. His black hair was greying on the sides, showing signs of receding. He wore a clean white shirt and deep red tie, the tip of which he fiddled compulsively in his left hand. He was on the phone, his right hand lifting it to his ear. As we stomped into the office, he gave us a nod, indicating for us to take a seat until his phone call was over.

Maybe I expected a calm discussion, for Yarfush to calmly take a seat and wait for Dan to finish his call. I certainly didn't expect him to grab the phone from Dan's ear and slam it down onto the receiver.

"What the hell, Steven?!" Dan boomed, getting up from his seat. "Have you got a screw loose?!"

"Sit!"

I had never heard my voice carry such ferocity in just a single order. Dan went wide-eyed and slowly sat back down.

((Yarfush?! What are you doing?!)) I shrieked. ((You want a promotion or do you want to be arrested?))

((Leave this to me, Steven.)) He huffed, and then to Dan. "McGregor, we have known each other for a few years now, correct?"

I couldn't quite pinpoint Dan's expression. It was somewhere between shock, anger, confusion and fear.

"Yes, Steven…" He stammered. "A few years now."

Yarfush made me nod, placing my hands on the edge of the desk and leaning in towards Dan, who shrunk back into his seat. "And how many times have my favours for you been repaid? How has all my hard work been rewarded?"

"What is this all about, Steven?" Dan said, forcing a nervous laugh.

"This is about the fact that for the last few years, I and my wife have had to live off of the pittance that you give me for slaving away in this horrible dump that you run."

His nervous laugh retreated. "You… want a raise? Is that what you want?"

Yarfush grinned, almost threateningly. "I do not _want_ a raise. I will _have_ a raise."

There was an unsettling period when they just stared into each other's eyes. A non-verbal battle of will.

Dan's nervous laugh returned. "Okay, Steven, okay…" He reached a shaking hand forward on the desk for a pen and a sticky-note pad. "You're right. You have worked here long enough, I suppose."

I could sense the hatred steaming from him as he wrote a few notes on the pad. Yarfush kept a close eye on him, spying on what he wrote. He seemed satisfied.

Dan sighed and stuck the note to the bottom of the computer screen. "Ten percent…" He said, conceding. "A ten percent raise. That's all you get." He seethed.

Yarfush huffed. "Good. I'm glad that we could come to an understanding."

Dan looked defeated. He pursed his lips and fiddled with his pen. "I must make some phone calls. Thank you for coming." It was a typical line that Dan used to excuse people from his office, said this time with considerably more vigour.

We exited his office and headed down to the staff lounge for a well-earned coffee. I was still in shock at what I had just witnessed.

Yarfush had done it. I had been given a raise. His method was one that I would never have thought of, and never, ever would have considered trying.

But Yarfush was a Yeerk. He lived within a maze of promotions and military struggles. This would have been a tactic he had picked up over the years in the much more hostile environment of war. Perhaps, to him, force was the only way to get through to people. It certainly worked on Dan in a way I never thought possible.

((He is a coward.)) Yarfush interjected. ((There is only one way to convince a coward effectively, and that is aggression. Put them in a corner, and they will concede to anything.))

I didn't know whether to thank him for keeping his promise, or to berate him for utilising such a brutal method that could put me on bad terms with my boss.

((I think you should thank me.)) Yarfush commented, continuing to read my thoughts. ((Is that not what you wanted? A raise?))

((Yes.)) I admitted. ((I wanted a raise.))

I sighed to myself, partly relieved, partly annoyed that he could do something in under a minute that I had failed to do in years.

We returned home at about six o'clock and started tonight's dinner. It was nothing special, just chicken and mashed potatoes.

I always thought that, on the day I finally got a raise, I would treat Brenda to one of my more ambitious, exotic meals. But it was Yarfush and Decran who would be talking over the meal. They were neither close, and nor would they really care. Maybe Yarfush would bring it up as a side-note, but I doubted that it would bring Brenda much relief.

In the spare moments that we had before Decran would return, Yarfush made phone calls to local plasterers and painters. He was going to redecorate the house. Before, he had his own plans, but now it seemed that I had a say in the matter.

((Beige? Really? Just keep it white. I like it that way.)) I urged him.

((I'm just trying to add some colour.)) He countered. ((But hey, you're the human. You're the ones who spend so much time fussing over such trivial things. I just thought maybe you would like something a little more interesting.))

((I like white.)) I grumbled.

((Fine.)) He conceded. ((White it is.))

He finished up the call. Painters and decorators would be invading our home sometime next week, something which I wasn't looking forward to. This house rarely saw visitors since Twig had been introduced.

((You really should have left him outside.)) Yarfush said, once again reading into and interrupting my stream of thought.

((For you Yeerks to come along and make him just another prisoner?)) I snapped.

Yarfush exhaled through my mouth. ((We didn't need to. You did that perfectly well yourselves.))

I paused and considered what he said. ((Wait, what do you mean?))

((You held that Hork-Bajir prisoner, Steven. A slave.))

((We did not!)) I spat defensively.

Yarfush chuckled to himself. ((Was he ever allowed outside, Steven? Did he ever play in the trees like any free Hork-Bajir should? Or did he mope around your cramped little house, barely able to stand up straight?)) He craned our neck to gaze up at one of the dents in the ceiling where Twig's headblades had hit. ((I mean, for God's sake Steven, you made him do your housework! No wonder this place is such a mess.))

((Whatever punishment we may have forced on him is nothing compared to the torture _you_ would have put him through. We cared for him, gave him a home. He had a family.)) I growled.

Yarfush smiled. ((It was punishment, nonetheless. We are no more slave holders than you, Steven. Your pitiful race is just as willing to hold someone prisoner as we Yeerks are.))

I scowled internally, annoyed at his insistence. I couldn't believe, for a minute, that what we did even came close to comparison to what the Yeerks were doing. Yarfush once again read my thoughts, and laughed it off. He tried to take my mind off of it by preparing dinner. It was ready as Decran hustled through the front door.

They ate dinner together. The food was average, and Decran seemed just as tense as Yarfush had. I got the feeling that Decran had received the same briefing from her respective sub-Visser.

It wasn't like the Yeerks were nervous or edgy, but like they expected great shifts would arise soon. I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

Things were stranger still, as Decran was still to receive an assignment, which she claimed was due to uncertainty about the placement of current hosts. This, I assumed, was connected to the mysterious briefing in some way.

Yarfush and Decran then retired to the living room, indulging in yet another mindless television show. Tonight was little different, however. Thy cracked open a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses. I don't think it was so much of a celebration, but more of a pleasure that they simply wished to enjoy.

This was not the first time Yarfush had been exposed to alcohol, of course, but Decran was unused to the sensations that occurred after a couple of wine glasses. She complained about the sensations to Yarfush, who would laugh and tell her that it was perfectly normal.

Soon enough, after a few glasses of wine each, they were just a little tipsy. They stopped drinking there, knowing that they had work tomorrow, but their conversations took on more and more personal tones as time went on. It was gossip, more than anything else. Yarfush had a few enemies in the pool, as did Decran, and they wholeheartedly indulged in expressing their anger and petty envy of some of their higher-ups. They had a few choice words about Visser One, who they both seemed to know quite well. Yarfush, rather thankfully, informed me that they knew him from reputation, and not on a personal level.

Then the conversation shifted in a direction that I had been worried about during the course of the evening. Yarfush wanted to talk about me.

"For the last few years, he's been chasing promotion." He began. "I managed to get us a raise today. That should be helpful when it comes to redecoration."

I saw no smile from Decran, like I would have expected from Brenda. Instead, she nodded formally. "I am sure that has pleased your host to some extent. My own host, however, is refusing to back down. She wishes not to accept her fate. She still screams."

I felt certain that those statements were more aimed towards Brenda as spite. Before, I would have been furious at the horrible, inconsiderate comments. Today, however, I released whatever rage built up by asking Yarfush to move the conversation away from that specific area.

He paused, clumsily putting down the empty wine glass that he had been holding. I was relieved when he moved the conversation to a more comfortable subject, but I couldn't help but feel that he had ignored my request, and was moving the subject on his own accord. "We have people coming to the house next week to fix up all the holes and do some painting. My host insisted on white walls."

Decran laughed. "My host doesn't want us to touch anything." She turned Brenda's head to look over at her Mother's clock. "We should get rid of _that_ old thing."

"Now, now, Decran." Yarfush smirked. "You know that the humans treasure that clock. My host would not forgive us if that clock were gone."

Decran smiled and adjusted in her seat to better face Yarfush. "I tell you what we _could_ get rid of. This host received a load of clothes from yours a few months ago. She can't stand them"

My heart sank a little. Brenda always told me that she loved those clothes. Had she lied to me the whole time?

Yarfush laughed, also adjusting to face Decran, one leg folding up onto to sofa. "Oh really? My host didn't know that." Then he twisted my face into a devious grin. "He bought them cheap. They were second hand."

((Yarfush!)) I shouted in disgust. Then I froze (as much as I could without my own body). Suddenly, I saw where this conversation was headed. ((Yarfush, please stop this.))

He ignored me and paid his attention purely to Decran.

"Well you know what? My host can't stand yours." Decran murmured nonchalantly. "She doesn't always have to work till seven, but she stays there, simply to avoid coming home."

Another knife in my chest that sent me reeling. That couldn't be true. What had I ever done that could make her hate me so much that she would actively avoid being around me?

This was no longer a conversation between our Yeerks. They were trying to humiliate us.

((Yarfush, stop this right now!)) I yelled. ((Don't say anything else!))

His voice rang from my mouth. "My host had an affair for two years."

There it was. My one big secret spilt out casually over a glass of wine. The thing that had cursed me and held me in shackles of guilt for such a long time, mumbled in such a trivial manner.

Brenda… Decran smiled.

"My host is disturbed." She simply said.

"She remembers Cindy, I presume." Yarfush continued.

"Yes. She does."

((Yarfush…)) I cried, now at the point of begging. ((Don't. Take it back. Tell her it was a lie!))

But it didn't matter anymore. Brenda had always had her suspicions, though they had died down over the last year. The accusations soon disappeared too.

Now, they would all come back. But I would never hear them. I would never be able to explain myself to her.

I felt completely and utterly destroyed.

How could Yarfush betray me like that? How could he simply throw out such a big secret in such a casual setting?

Then I realised. He was drunk. His words were slurred, his body… our body was swaying ever so slightly as we sat up straight.

My hope of eventually saving Brenda and reuniting our relationship was obliterated, lost due to the excess consumption of wine.

((Yarfush…)) I whined. ((Take us away. Take us to bed, I don't want to see her anymore.))

Yarfush was now beginning to show signs of regret. Of course, by now, it was too late for regret. His sinister grin had long since dropped, and now he turned our head away from Decran.

"I wish to sleep." He mumbled. "I'm sure you do, too."

Decran agreed, her voice similarly faltering. Brenda was giving her a rough time. I could tell.

They both stood, averting their gazes, and began to put things away for the night before they went to separate beds.

_We interrupt your scheduled programme to bring you a special news bulletin_

Yarfush and Decran, in the midst of putting away the wine, stopped and watched as the late night television game show was suddenly halted. The screen flashed, commanding attention.

It flickered and changed. There was now a reporter on the screen, a microphone held to her suspiciously downturned mouth. Around her, cameras flashed incessantly. She must have belonged to one of the major news stations.

Beside her stood another woman who was instantly recognisable. She looked just as rough as I felt.

It was our state governor, and she had some big news.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

The Governor's message was loud and clear. The Yeerks had been found out, their secret invasion revealed. There would be scepticism at first, something which the Governor admitted, but now there was video evidence, and too many witnesses to ignore. The whole world would know about the Yeerk invasion.

Yarfush and Decran didn't quite believe the news at first. They thought it was some effect of the alcohol, but once they had made a few phone calls, they began to panic. I could sense Yarfush's anxiousness, and though I was glad of the news, I was also worried about how this would eventually affect us.

Yarfush phoned a few superiors, desperate to receive some orders, some instruction in where to go or what to do. Eventually, he got through to his sub-Visser.

We were ordered to head to the underground base immediately.

Yarfush and Decran packed a few essentials into a large backpack and we were soon on our way to the cinema. We arrived in a car park that was bustling with clueless human controllers. It seemed that a great number had been recalled to the great underground base for whatever reason.

No one cared for secrecy anymore. The secret was out, so there was no need for subtlety. Everyone headed straight for the base entrances and queued to get down the narrow stairways.

The base was in a state of anxiety. Sub-Vissers stood on podiums in front of their squadrons and barked out complex series of orders. Steel plates rose up around the Yeerk pool to stop people falling in as they ran around like headless chickens.

No one knew what to do, and the orders from the Visser were slow to arrive. Yarfush and Decran were parted instantly and headed for their respective stations. We made our way through human controllers shouting down handheld phones and Hork-Bajir controllers trying to keep everyone under control. Taxxons were ordered into empty buildings in case of any accidents that would send them into a riot.

We reached our station. The Sub-Visser in charge of our recruitment sector then gathered us outside one of the barracks.

"Listen up!" The blond-haired woman shouted from atop a soap box. "The humans have revealed the invasion! I have therefore been ordered to relieve you all of your recruitment duties! You must remain down here in the base until you are given further orders!"

Yarfush was now even more nervous than before. I suddenly got the feeling that our next assignment wouldn't be so cosy.

((It won't be.)) He intruded my thought. ((Recruitment requires that the humans are completely unaware of our presence. Now that they know we're here, we have no choice but to take the humans by force.))

((And what does that mean for us?)) I asked.

He paused, and then said, ((Are you any good with a gun, Steven?))

I would have gulped if I could. This is exactly what I had feared. Now that humans wouldn't come willingly, and the world's military forces would be actively seeking us out, it made sense that we would be armed and prepared to fight.

All of us.

The Sub-Visser continued to scream out improvised orders. Other sub-Vissers were slowly gathering their troops, and the base was beginning to calm. Orders from Visser One were now coming through more clearly. We were to prepare for all-out war.

We were handed weapons. Not human weapons, but handheld Dracon beams. They were unfamiliar, but worked in essentially the same way.

Obviously, with the base so busy, there was nowhere to practise. The Yeerks were not fully prepared for this situation, and so we would not be prepared either. I was told how to turn the weapon to safety mode, how to adjust the beam power. How to stun. How to kill. That was all I would learn.

Somewhere, Brenda was receiving the same orders. I feared for her more than ever.

((So what now?)) I demanded of Yarfush as our squadron was disbanded.

((We wait for more orders.)) Yarfush growled. ((We will either stay in the Yeerk pool, or we will be sent to reinforce some outpost somewhere. We will be safer if we stay here. Your country's military will already be searching for Yeerk bases. They will probably be lost quite quickly.))

I felt a sudden wave of satisfaction, and I decided to express it with a taunting sneer. ((Do you fear loss, Yarfush? Can this little base survive the largest military in the world?))

He snorted in return. ((We are not just this one base, Steven. We will win.))

The next few hours were spent roaming the base with nothing to do. We still had not received our orders. Yarfush did a few odd-jobs here and there, mostly moving human hosts to the piers to be reinfested or transporting small goods to the barracks. The mindless chores that Yarfush had to complete took his full attention, and allowed me to picture several scenarios that could play out, were the military to attack. Not many of them ended well.

If an attack occurred, it was Yarfush's duty to resist and push back any oncoming forces. He would be in the firing line, and so would I. I could die in a fight that I had no intention of being in. That was the case for pretty much all the hosts here. Innocent lives would be lost.

That's war, I suppose.

The sub-Visser eventually gathered us back around the barracks. Everyone under her control was here now, not just the recruitment sector. She was dishing out our new assingments.

I was relieved to find out that we would be staying here. Some unfortunate groups were to be sent out to reinforce small bases elsewhere that would be the first to fall under military fire, but those groups mostly consisted on hosts trained for combat.

Yarfush was equally satisfied with the orders, but also frustrated that we would have little to do for an undetermined amount of time. Our new assignment meant that we would occasionally be sent out on small errands around town, maybe to collect supplies or to aid in rounding up new hosts, but apart from that, we would be wandering aimlessly around this hellish complex.

Visser One had released some new orders to deal with the new situation. We were to revert to what was essentially a Plan B: Take as many humans for hosts as we could find. Squadrons would be sent out to raid houses, schools, community halls and round up every uninfested human they could find. Prisoners would be sent down to subway stations, where the trains would drop them off right by the base. There was no need now for subtlety or pickiness, so they would take as many hosts as they could find.

Hosts were being shuffled in cages to make extra room, and I was informed that I would now be moved from cell B-68 to B-31 the next time Yarfush had to feed. The number of hosts per cage was raised from six to eight, which made for a lot of cramped, unhappy hosts. Yarfush put up with their moans for as long as possible, but a punch to the arm from a frustrated human finally made him lose his temper. He lashed out, catching the man in the face through the bars. He was reprimanded by his Sub-Visser and made to transport stock between station nurseries.

This job required making several trips to neighbouring stations. Since the new orders were established, all base nurseries were to be emptied, and the contents moved to smaller nurseries situated in stations 2 and 8. The extra space created was going to be used as weapon storage.

Yarfush moaned the entire time. It was the most frustrated I had ever known him to be. Then again, carrying heavy boxes filled with Taxxon eggs past hundreds of cages of crying hosts didn't exactly make me feel the greatest level of comfort, either.

We handed over the egg boxes to human controllers in the new nurseries, who placed them in incubators. Every trip was long, and moving back and forth eventually took its toll on my body. Yarfush needed a drink, so we stepped next door once we had dropped off our seventh box. It was a small building much like a diner. Tables were dotted around the room, and a cafeteria stood at the far end. Extra controllers were brought in to deal with the excess numbers of customers, but it still took an awfully long time for us to reach the front of the queue. Yarfush ordered a large coffee and a ham sandwich.

The refreshments helped to calm Yarfush's nerves, but he was still dangerously close to pulling my hair out. His fears of great change were coming true. No longer was he in a cushy office job, advertising community meetings of The Sharing. Now the threat of war hung over his head, and the worrying realisation that getting caught in a firing line was now a great possibility. He didn't want to die, and the thought of it was sending him through a vicious cycle of emotions.

He took his time with the coffee, unwilling to get back to work, but also fearing the wrath of his sub-Visser if he refused to carry out his duty. There was still a lot to be moved from the nurseries, so he took the long trip to Station 11 to transport the last of the Taxxon eggs to their new incubation units.

A large box was handed to us, and we were ordered to be quick so that they could begin moving Hork-Bajir cubs. We exited the old nursery and headed southwards to Station 8 where the box was to be dropped off.

We were dragging our way past the Station 11 host cages, where several Hork-Bajir controllers were reshuffling hosts to new cells in order to make extra room.

Something slammed us. A scuffle had broken out involving a couple of hosts who decided to rebel, and they had charged a Hork-Bajir who consequently stumbled back into us. Yarfush almost lost his footing, and was barely able to save the egg box from smashing on the ground.

"Watch it, you bumbling fool!" He yelled at the Hork-Bajir.

"Then stay out of the way, human." The controller hissed back.

Yarfush regained his composure and turned to issue some half-hearted threat to the clumsy controller. They stood face to face, and an eerie silence befell them.

The Hork-Bajir was of an average height, but his blades were noticeably blunted on his arms and legs. He bore horrible scars over his torso, about five in total that looked curiously like bullet wounds. His face was one that I recognised well.

Twig?

Yarfush was shocked, as was the Hork-Bajir. For a brief moment, a look of terror spread over his face, and his left eye twitched. He shook his head, and the angered face of the Yeerk reappeared.

"Get away from here." He seethed. Then he turned, flicked his tail in anger and rushed away, dutifully returning to his job.

Yarfush did the same, shaking away the shock of the moment and turned in the direction of Station 8.

((That was Twig!)) I told him, as if he hadn't already figured that out. ((He's alive!))

((Forget it, Steven.)) Yarfush ordered, trying to appear unfazed. ((It doesn't matter.))

I was too shocked to leave the matter unexplored. ((But… we saw him die.))

((I know. That is what your memories suggested.)) Yarfush grumbled, quickening our pace.

((He was shot five times…)) I said, more to myself than to him. ((He wasn't moving. How did the bullets not kill him?))

((Hork-Bajir are resilient creatures.)) Yarfush informed, still annoyed at this revelation that he knew would cause me to give him yet more grief. ((A Hork-Bajir in his condition would usually be euthanized, but mortality rates have been high, so laws on euthanizing have become a lot stricter. It seems that they let him live.))

I should have been happy for Twig being alive, but a great part of me felt nauseous. Before, I felt like he had been granted an easy way out, a ticket away from a world of hardship and suffering. But no. He was here as well, suffering just as much as me and Brenda, maybe even more so.

((We should let Brenda know.)) I told Yarfush. ((She would want to know Twig is still alive.))

((Why waste our time? You'd just give her more to worry about.)) He snapped. ((Twig will probably die anyway. He barely has blades!))

He finished transferring the eggs and aided in the moving of Hork-Bajir cub cages, all the while putting up with my mental ponderings.

I had a deep nagging within that told me that my hopes were wasted on Twig. That Yarfush was right, and Twig would likely be killed. In any combat situation, he would be forced to the front with the other Hork-Bajir, and without effective blades, he would be basically useless. His lack of training wouldn't help, either.

Perhaps it would have been better if he had died when we thought he had.

Anyway, Brenda was still the one that I desperately wanted to save, and the only one who I could realistically hope for. She may now know of my darkest secret, and maybe she hated me for it, but I still loved her, and I wanted to be the one to protect her. Maybe, after all of this, she could find some way to forgive me.

I doubted it, but I spent the rest of that day wallowing in that small hope.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

It wasn't long before Yarfush was given a new assignment. I suppose that wandering aimlessly around the base and doing nothing of any use was beginning to irritate his sub-Visser.

The Yeerks were now performing raids around town in order to take as many new hosts as possible. We were already seeing a huge influx, the cages around each station becoming far busier than usual. The plan to drop off now host via subway trains was now in full swing, carrying unwilling prisoners from miles around directly to their new home. I thought that the base was loud before, but now it was deafening.

Yarfush and a few other controllers were called to the barracks for a briefing on the new assignment. As he suspected, it was not as straight-forward as transporting Taxxon eggs.

It was much more dangerous.

The plan was unorganised, panicked and risky. Both I and Yarfush instantly recognised that, as did the ten or so other human controllers who had been called up. A few angry grunts were aimed at the sub-Visser, but in the end she had the final say.

We were to perform a raid. Our group would impersonate normal human beings and enter a large public building, secretly armed with Dracon beams. A few would remain downstairs and block off the exits, while the rest made their way up the building, sending any humans inside downstairs. Once this was completed, the prisoners would be transferred to the nearest subway station to be transported down to the base.

It seemed simple enough, but there was no prior preparation. This was an on-the-spot decision by the sub-Visser. A panic decision. Yarfush suspected that she was under pressure from the Visser, and that it was causing her to make rash decisions.

The sub-Visser had decided to do the mission today, because several other raids were taking place in different areas of town. The local police, already under great strain, would be stretched so far as to become effectively useless, and if we could keep the mission quiet, we probably wouldn't be disturbed.

But if word got out, and local forces came, it would likely come down to a combat situation, and none of us was trained for combat. We would almost certainly be killed. Neither Yarfush nor I liked that one bit, but protests against such a risky mission went unheard. We were soon on our way to the building that we would be raiding.

There was a specific reason that Yarfush had been selected for this mission. He was chosen because I (and hence, he) knew the building well, almost as well as I knew the back of my hand.

We were going to the hospital.

((She's mad!)) I complained. ((She wants to raid the hospital of all places?))

Yarfush was equally miffed. ((I suspect that she won't be sub-Visser for long. With Visser One visiting soon, I suspect that she won't even have a head soon.))

((So why bother?)) I asked.

((I must follow my orders, no matter how stupid.)) Yarfush said with some attempt at a prideful tone. ((Besides, if we don't follow through with this mission, it will be _you_ who won't have a head. There is no room now for disobedience.))

I sighed. ((But… it's a hospital! Who are we going to take for hosts? New-born babies? Cancer patients? Amputees?))

((Steven, you know as well as I do that the town is steadily being abandoned by the humans. They suspect the presence of our base under their soil. However, there are certain places that will always remain operating and full of human hosts, and a hospital is one of those places.))

We arrived shortly after two o'clock. The small hospital would be busy, full of potential host bodies. We arrived in a typical minibus and parked up near the entrance, while a 16-wheeler that had followed us rolled around to the other side of the building. That was what the prisoners would be transported in.

The truck was to be parked in a back alley, away from the viewing public. Nothing was to look suspicious, so to make sure that no one raised any eyebrows, the truck was one that was originally used to transport food to local businesses. No one would suspect a truck delivering food to a hospital.

The twelve of us left the minibus and separated. I was in my work clothes, to appear as if I was just going in for a normal day in the office. Most of the others in the squadron were disguised as patients.

I was to head upstairs and send people down to the bottom floor, as six of my comrades secured the area and held the prisoners. If they didn't go down willingly, I had my Dracon beam hidden under my coat to better persuade them. In my pocket, I had a small handheld communication device, in case there were any issues that arose.

_I_ had plenty of issues. I did not like this situation at all. I knew a lot of the people in this hospital, and I did not want to see them taken prisoner. But there was something far more sinister that Yarfush tried to avoid talking about.

We were to take the doctors, the nurses, the able-bodied patients. Everyone else was not worth having, and they would be left to die.

((It is a war, Steven!)) Yarfush barked. ((Innocents will die. It doesn't make a difference what kind of innocent that is.))

((You're just going to leave all those patients here? All those people hooked up to life support, all those babies in the maternity units? You're just going to let them die? That is sick! It's disgusting!))

((They are not my orders! If we do not obey, we both die! Dying will consequently have no effect on the outcome for those patients. Disobedience is not an option.))

((I am really starting to dislike you again…)) I growled bitterly.

((You think I care?))

We left six of our squadron downstairs, and the rest of us went up to the second floor. There, we went to separate corners of the building and waited for the ground floor to be secured.

I was in the second floor eating area. There weren't many people here, and a few left while I waited. By the time my communication device informed me that the ground floor was secured, only eight people remained, seven of them patients.

Yarfush got me to my feet and pretended to just finish a phone call. In my work clothes, Yarfush commanded a good deal of authority, especially over the patients, so when he announced to the room that builders were coming to the room and they would have to make their way to the eating area downstairs, they obeyed without suspicion. Yarfush herded them to the stairs where they would soon find themselves trapped and surrounded by six men with Dracon beams.

Yarfush could tell how sick this whole ordeal was making me, and hushed me whenever I would begin complaining again. He was not too pleased with the job either, but his loyalty kept him from showing any mercy. As soon as the eating room was cleared, he moved onto the next room.

The second floor was quickly cleared, and our half of the squadron met up at the stairwell. The third floor was much the same, but the patients were harder to convince. Moving down a single floor didn't seem like much, but being moved down two floors for trivial reasons rose some eyebrows. Some doctors and nurses refused to leave sick patients, and so Dracon weapons were now beginning to be utilised.

Yarfush was herding three nurses to the stairs, when a couple of screams rang loudly through the white-walled corridors. The nurses froze, and after a few seconds of confusion, something seemed to click in their heads. They turned just as Yarfush pulled out the Dracon beam and held it at them.

"Don't scream." He ordered.

The nurses began to whimper, but raised their hands in reluctant surrender.

((Don't you dare shoot, Yarfush!)) I warned. ((Don't you dare!))

He laughed, though he seemed a little unsure of himself. ((I won't, Steven. This is just to keep them calm. Why waste a host?))

The screams from the corridor were silenced, and the perpetrators were being marched towards us, hands also raised in surrender. Yarfush and his fellow Yeerk urged the prisoners downstairs, weapons raised to their backs, and they soon joined the quickly increasing number of people hidden downstairs.

Then came the fourth floor. My floor.

Yarfush made sure that he would take care of the area where my office was situated. Then we headed past the all-too-familiar staff lounge and past Marty Johnson's office. Thankfully, he wasn't here. He was fortunate.

Yarfush headed for my office.

((There won't be anyone in there.)) I told him as he opened up the door.

My assertion was correct. However, Yarfush continued to stroll inside and closed the door behind him. He stood there, head slowly turning, observing the entire room. The office was just about as messy as I usually left it. The desk was smothered in patient files that dropped haphazardly to the floor beside my chair. Dried up coffee stains patterned the areas of the desk still visible. The carpeting was dirty and in desperate need of vacuuming, though its presence was minimal, suffocated by the large desk and file cabinets that patrolled the walls. Certificates hung at eye level, interspersed by pictures of bright city landscapes and sea views, something that could barely be seen out of the all-too-rarely cleaned window.

I hated the room with a strong passion. Life had gone so horribly downhill ever since I was forced to sit here every weekday, counting down the hours and thinking of how things could have been so much better. This room represented an era, a dark period in my life.

Now was the last time I would see this room.

((Yarfush,)) I said impatiently. ((What are we doing here?))

He said nothing, still gazing around the room. I felt no emotion from him. It was all mine.

Suddenly, I fell forward, collapsing onto my knees. My hands were barely able to uphold my weight, and I simply slumped clumsily to the floor.

Yarfush had let go. He had released his grip on me.

((What the…)) I shrieked in shock. ((Yarfush?))

((I am giving you temporary control of your body, Steven.))

I tried to raise myself from the floor with weak, unfamiliar arms. ((Why?))

He didn't need to answer, and after a moment of consideration, I understood why.

I finally recovered the use of my body and stood up on my own legs, looking around the horrid little office with my own eyes. I looked down at my own hands, moving my fingers and turning them to see my palms.

Yarfush became completely silent. I was alone with my own body, and I knew exactly what I wanted to do with it. I moved forward towards the window and bent down to pick up a loose piece of wood that had been left by builders years ago. I never thought of moving it, and perhaps this was why.

The wood was thick and sturdy. Perfect for the job.

I turned back to face the room and took the block of wood in both my hands. A kind of rage was quickly building in me, summoned by the terrible years spent in this decrepit office. I swung, and the wooden pole connected with a certificate frame on the wall. It smashed, small pieces of broken glass shattering over the floor. I swung again, destroying a considerably larger picture frame.

The floor was becoming littered with glass that crumpled under my shoes as I flung the pole around, smashing everything that could be broken. Once the wall features were out of the way, I turned my focus to the desk. I destroyed the computer monitor, sending it to the floor in a loud, satisfying bang.

The book shelves, the desk, the file cabinets… Everything was a victim. Everything was breakable.

I left the room completely trashed. The floor was decorated wildly with bits of computer, glass, books... Everything that once stood had fallen.

I spotted something unbroken: a small red picture frame. My weapon was raised, but before the strike was made, I stopped. I reached down a hand and picked up.

It was our wedding day photo. Brenda and I, stood hand-in-hand, smiling in marital bliss.

A tear rolled down my cheeks, and I set the picture back down. I would not break it.

I dropped the wood to the floor. I'm done, Yarfush.

And as soon as I said it, Yarfush retook control. He shook my body, making sure he was altogether in charge. Did you have fun?

((Shut up, Yarfush. I don't really want to talk about it…)) I replied briskly. ((Can we get this job over with so we can get back to the dungeons you call home?))

His reply was rudely interrupted. A loud series of bangs shook the building. It sounded like machine gun fire.

Yarfush recognised it, too, extracting the memory of the sound from my brain. His head darted around, and then he rushed to the window. He opened it, and the distinct sound of sirens filled the open air.

The sound of machine gun fire echoed again. It sounded like it was coming from downstairs. It was accompanied by shouting.

"Shit!" He hissed to himself. His hand reached down and pulled the communicator device from his pocket. Into it, he shouted, "Report! I hear human weaponry!"

Someone was instant to reply through the device. "The human forces have been alerted! They are heavily armed!"

Yarfush yelled out incoherently in frustration. "I _knew_ this would happen!" Then, with his spare hand, he pulled out the Dracon beam and fiddled with the settings.

He set it to full power.

((If I'm going down, I'm taking a few with me.))

Now I was panicking. ((Yarfush, forget the mission! Let's get out of here!))

But nothing would stop Yarfush from following his orders. He put his ear to the door and, hearing no one immediately outside, brushed through the door, keeping close to the walls. The Dracon beam was clung to his side, out of sight from any onlookers.

The communicator buzzed up from its pocket. "All squad abandon mission! Request reinforcements on second floor!"

More gun shots were fired from the floor below us, followed by the unmistakeable noise of Dracon beams being used. Yarfush wasn't going to run from it, and he bounded towards and down the staircase.

The huge noise of machine gun fire was now hurting my ears, and I screamed to Yarfush to stay away from the fight, but by now he was too far gone. He reached the end of the stairs, and we were on the second floor. A light layer of smoke weaved over the ceiling, a result of the battle that raged down the left corridor.

Yarfush, inexperienced with combat, seemed a little clueless, but he kept hidden behind a corner, turning his head around to peek at what was happening.

There were three uniformed men with their backs turned to us, kneeling behind makeshift defences. There were firing rounds into the distance, where I would occasionally catch a glimpse of one of our men. A Dracon laser blew past us, causing Yarfush to retreat his head around the wall. He was now panting, sweat pouring from his forehead.

((We can't take them, Yarfush!)) I warned. ((They look highly trained, and we've barely held a gun before.))

((Yes.)) He agreed. ((But they can't see us.))

Before I could raise my objections, Yarfush emerged from the corner, Dracon raised.

He pulled the trigger, and one soldier fell. Then another. The third officer finally noticed what was happening and turned to fire.

He was too late, and before he could fill me with holes, he had one himself. A large, gaping hole through his chest. He collapsed.

My objections stopped, silenced as I considered what I… what Yarfush had just done. Three men lay dead, destroyed by _my_ Dracon fire.

My hand had killed. They had pulled the trigger. I was a killer.

((It wasn't you, Steven.)) Yarfush spoke. ((Don't blame yourself for their deaths.))

But I couldn't help it. It was so real. I could feel the heat on my hand from the recently fired Dracon weapon. My finger still felt the harsh metal of the trigger.

Yarfush was too busy to worry about my self-pity. ((We have to move now. There will be more human soldiers.))

The communicator buzzed once again. "Ground floor security is lost! Prisoners have escaped! All squad fall back! Retreat!"

Finally, someone had the good sense to know that this was an unwinnable battle. But how could we retreat if the ground floor had been lost?

Machine gun rounds were now being fired further down the corridor to our right, and from downstairs.

((I have an idea.)) Yarfush said, still clearly shaken. He took one last look at his weapon, before throwing it down the corridor, along with his communicator.

((You're throwing away our only weapon? _Great_ idea…))

He ignored me and made his way to the next staircase. I suddenly caught onto his game when he made his way very slowly to the ground floor.

By the time he touched down on the bottom step, all machine gun and Dracon beam fire had stopped. The battle was over.

We were spotted as soon as we stepped into the ground floor corridor by several soldiers, weapons cocked. One stepped close to us, finger on the trigger.

Yarfush raised his hands and gave a frightened expression. He hoped that it would give them the false impression that he was just another prisoner.

The soldier inspected me from a distance, and then signalled a couple of his men to pat me down while he kept his gun directed at my head. The soldiers found nothing, and Yarfush breathed a big sigh of relief when we were escorted out of the building.

We took a bus to the cinema and descended the secret passage back down to the base. Of the dozen men who had left just a couple of hours before, I was the only one to return. The mission had failed.

Deep down, we knew that the plan was doomed from the start. It was a rash decision, not properly organised, not properly manned, not properly thought out.

We didn't hear from our sub-Visser again after that day.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Things in the underground Yeerk base had calmed significantly over the last couple of days. The initial panic of being discovered by the human population had died down, and the enormous intake of new hosts seemed to be raising Yeerk morale. Just a little bit, but enough to stop everyone running around panicking about military attacks.

Enough to stop sub-Vissers making awful decisions.

Yarfush had a new sub-Visser now, who seemed to be handling things much better than the last one. Despite being the only Yeerk to escape the ill-fated mission in the hospital, Yarfush went unpunished. They placed no blame on him for how it went down.

I resigned myself to silence the day after the mission. I still had not recovered from witnessing the deaths of the three soldiers. I don't think I ever will. Yarfush was willing to take the blame for it, and though technically it _was _all his doing, I couldn't help but feel that I played a part in their killing. It was a vision that I would take to my grave, and every day, that grave seemed even closer.

The new sub-Visser was clever enough to only send experienced combatants or controllers good with weapons into raids, which meant the Yarfush was relegated to once again wandering the Yeerk base for minor jobs to perform. These usually involved cleaning out host cages, feeding Taxxons and helping to shift human hosts to and from the piers that lined the pool.

I had slowly started to adjust to my new home. That is not to say that I no longer found it gruesome and horrific in the worst possible ways, but the screams no longer seemed so loud, and the sight of distressed hosts became just an inconvenient drone.

I hated myself for adjusting to such a hell. It felt too much like betrayal.

Yarfush was mostly on patrol duty today, which meant circling the vast complex and looking out for any brewing trouble or for any fellow Yeerk in need of a hand. It was mostly uneventful aside from the odd host escaping the clutches of their captors whilst being brought to or from the piers.

As we arrived to the northern end of the base, we approached Station 11. This was where I expected Twig was being kept.

((Do you mind if we search for Twig in the host cells?)) I asked Yarfush.

He sighed in annoyance. ((Must we?))

((Well, it's not as if you have anything better to do.)) I pointed out.

((Fine, but it is doubtful that we will find him. If we can't spot him within five minutes, I am moving along.))

So Yarfush took us on the less-than-scenic route alongside the host cages of Station 11. He ignored and avoided the outstretched hands and pleading that was the norm on such walks, but he moved slowly to get a good look inside each cage.

We approached the end of the line. ((I don't believe he is here, Steven.)) Yarfush uttered.

((Perhaps you're right.)) I sighed, a little deflated.

((We will check again on each trip. We may find him yet.)) He said, and I quietly thanked him for the offer.

But before Yarfush could pull away from the line of cages, something tugged at our eyes. The cell that was two down from the end of the line was holding a large number of hosts, seven at the least. The hosts consisted of, from an initial glance, five humans and two Hork-Bajir. Most of them were lost in the darkness of the shadows, including one Hork-Bajir who was curled up tightly in the corner. We could see very little.

That was what caught our attention. The Hork-Bajir's silhouette showed only slight signs of the typically large Hork-Bajir blades.

We loomed over cage K-98 to get a better look at the suspect. Yarfush pulled out a small flashlight from his pocket and shone it at the individual. As we thought, the blades across the arms and legs were severely blunted.

This Hork-Bajir was unmistakeably Twig. He was tightly packed into the corner of the cage, quivering and curled up almost like a ball with his tail looped up and over his head. His eyes constricted tightly under the influence of the flashlight. Tears ran down his cheeks. He finally hid his face in his hands.

The humans in the cage were noticing our intrusion, and were quick to make themselves heard by throwing verbal abuse and punching the air in my direction. Yarfush yelled at them to shut up, and that's when Twig looked up again.

((Say something else.)) I asked of Yarfush.

He caught onto my idea and returned some verbal abuse to one of the more rowdy humans. We noticed Twig unrolling himself in the corner, his head cocking at the familiar sound of my voice. As soon as he recognised me, he squirmed to the bars, pushing past a couple of shouting human hosts.

"Steven! Steven!" He yelped.

Yarfush felt no need to hand control over to me, and spoke to Twig himself. "Hello, Twig."

He stared up at us with sore, watery eyes. "Steven help Twig! Get Twig out of cage! Twig want to go home now!"

Yarfush sighed. "I can't. This is your new home."

I cursed him for the lack of empathy present in his tone, but I understood that there wasn't much else he could say. Nothing could really be said that would make Twig any happier.

Twig grunted and looked baffled. "Twig not like new home. Twig want to go home with Steven and Brenda."

"Twig," Yarfush started, a little frustrated. "Steven has a new home, as well. Steven lives in Station 2." He pointed in our station's general direction. "Steven lives in a cage much like the one you're in now."

The initial hope that my appearance had brought to Twig had quickly vanished. His frightened expression returned, and he simply gazed at Yarfush through the bars like he had been betrayed.

Yarfush decided that this was not a conversation worth having. "Twig, I must go. Be safe."

"No!" Twig shrieked. "Steven not leave! Not leave Twig again!"

Something tugged at my chest. Again? Did he think that I and Brenda had done this to him? Did he blame us for his suffering?

For probably the thousandth time, I felt sick inside.

Yarfush left with a few brutal final words to Twig. "I am not Steven, now. My name is Yarfush three-one-seven."

Yarfush turned and began to leave, much to Twig's despair. We listened to him cry out a loud falsetto whine that soon changed and mutated into a betrayed roar. I tried to drown it out, tried to think it was just another cry from another nameless face, but something told me that I would be remembering that cry for a long time.

We were soon out of range, and Yarfush insisted on excusing himself from blame. ((I'm sorry if I came across as a little harsh, but there was nothing else I could really do. There is no way I can make this slavery any better for him. Hork-Bajir hosts are never willing to compromise their freedom. That's why human hosts are now more desirable to my people.))

((You couldn't really have made things worse if you tried!)) I accused. ((You should have let me talk.))

((Drop my control in front of superiors? We would be back to Taxxon egg duty, Steven.))

I sighed, defeated. We had not managed to make Twig feel any more comfortable, and I even found myself with a few new metaphorical knives in my heart, but at least we knew where he was now. That was the only positive, but it was a positive nonetheless.

Three days had passed since Yarfush had last fed, and he was hungry. He reported to the sub-Visser, got permission to feed, and we were soon waiting by the Station 2 drop-off pier. The base, due to the influx of new hosts being brought in via the subways, was considerably busier, so the wait was even longer than usual.

I sensed nerves from Yarfush. He had grown quiet again.

He picked up on my curiosity. ((I am quiet because everything else is quiet…)) He hummed. ((The raids are going well, we have greatly increased host numbers, and we have avoided military attack.))

That's good though, isn't it? I commented. Well, for _you_, anyway.

((The higher-ups expected more resistance. I suppose it's…)) He paused.

((It's what?))

He grumbled inaudibly, then said, ((I guess there is no harm in telling you now. Do you remember when Howson told you about Andalite bandits?))

((Of course.)) I said, slightly bitter that he could simply read my memory as if he had been there with me.

((Well, they aren't.))

((Okay…)) I responded. ((They aren't what?))

((They aren't Andalites. They're humans.)) He huffed, apparently embarrassed.

I hesitated. ((Is this what you wouldn't tell me earlier?))

((Yes.)) He said. ((You see, the vast majority of our human hosts have never come into contact with an Andalite. Their view of Andalites comes entirely from our perspective of them.))

I considered this, but didn't quite understand what he was trying to get at. He continued.

((The Andalites are an extremely arrogant race, and don't take that as my personal bias. A lot of them truly are, especially those in military circles. That is what we tell our hosts, and that is what they believe. They think that, except for a small rogue band, the Andalites as a race care very little for yours. It gives the hosts little to no hope. It keeps them quiet.))

((And if they knew that it was humans trying to save them…)) I began.

((Then the human hosts will begin to believe that they have some hope of being saved.)) He finished for me. ((Yeerk will save Yeerk. Andalite will save Andalite. Human will save Human. The moment the human hosts realise that humans have some influence in the war, there is a risk of rebellion.))

((So why are you telling me this now?)) I questioned. ((Surely telling me now is counter-productive.))

((Things are changing, Steven.)) He hummed. ((The new hosts that have come in since the invasion was revealed are spreading rumours, and other hosts are starting to believe them. There is no real point in keeping it from you anymore. I want you to hear it from me. If we're going to be spending the rest of our lives together, I want there to be honesty.))

I would have smiled. ((I guess I should say thanks. I can't really keep secrets from you, so I guess it's fair.))

He chuckled. ((Yes, a little fairer. Just don't tell your cage-mates, okay?))

((I can't make any promises.))

((I understand. Sometimes, things just slip.)) He said, and he made my mouth smile as he brought my body up to the pier. It was his turn to go. ((See you again soon, Steven.)) He muttered as he bent us down and turned his head.

((Talk soon.)) I replied, and I felt him let go. He squirmed from my ear with the normal squelching, stretching motions and splashed down into the rusty water. I was escorted back to my new cage.

B-31, the cell I had been moved to since the war was unveiled, was holding five hosts. I made the number up to six as I entered.

I was fortunate that Howson had been moved to the same cell as me. He was talking to a black haired woman as I arrived, but he quickly turned his attention my way after introducing me to the strangers that now shared the living space.

He must have seen right through me, because he instantly picked up on the emotions I was feeling. "Steven, you okay, man? You seem a little shaken up."

I nodded, and then leant my head back against one of the bars. "It's been a tough few days. I'm sure things have been a little different for you, too."

"They sure have." He said. "So many new people down here. My Yeerk has been keeping me busy. I haven't seen any sun in days."

"Stuck down here, huh?" I chuckled. "You're luckier than you think you are."

He smiled a little sourly. "I get that feeling, too. Did you go up to the surface?"

"Yes." I said, holding back a grimace and turning my face to stone. "Once."

Howson's eyes narrowed and he sat down in front of me. "What happened, Steven?"

I exhaled heavily in a groan and rubbed at my face with both hands. Then I dropped them and stared into his eyes. "I killed. Three soldiers. I killed them."

Howson shook his head, a sorrowful look on his face. "That's something a lot of us have to deal with. But it ain't us killing, Steven. It's _them_."

"I know." I snapped, angrier at myself for my shameless self-pitying. "My Yeerk keeps trying to tell me that, but… it just seems so real, you know?"

"I wouldn't know." He admitted. "I've never had to go through that. I hope that I never will, but now that we're in open war…" He shrugged.

The hours passed by as usual, and I spent my time exchanging experiences with those caged around me. I would have to wait longer for Yarfush to return due to the extra workload required to infest new hosts, and I did my best to keep myself occupied, lest I return to my lonesome bubble to dwell in pity and guilt like I so often did.

I was talking to an Asian gentleman, when I noticed the controllers around the lake becoming agitated. Some were yelling down walkie-talkies, with uncertain looks on their faces. Howson noticed it to, and he was stood against the bars, watching as a sudden panic began to unfold.

Suddenly, orders were being screamed. Controllers ran around frantically to obey. There were no escapees putting up any fights, no spats erupting between controllers, and no weapons being fired. Something from elsewhere was sending them into hysteria.

Then I noticed something: The area around Station 1 was being evacuated.

"What's going on?" One of our cage-mates asked. No one answered. We were too busy watching the scenario unfold.

As soon as Station 1 had been evacuated, a loud rumble began to shake the cavern, and the source of panic became apparent. About thirty feet above the large station barracks was an opening in the cavern wall. It was an entrance to the new subway tunnel that the Yeerks had built to divert trains closer to the pool. Further down that cavern was the last station, where new hosts were dropped off.

The rumble came from the great hole in the wall, and the Yeerks were quick to abandon the area beneath it. That rumble turned to a roar that drowned out the confused screams of caged hosts.

From the cavern it burst, sending loose debris and work equipment through the air. The front end of a subway train crashed through the barriers like some great metal worm, the first carriage bending and dropping through the air and over the barracks, its front slamming down on the rock surface below. The second carriage pushed out the back end of the first as it charged on from behind, causing the train to jack-knife forward. Metal splintered and screeched, sending hideous echoes around the chamber.

The train balanced precariously on the lead carriage, then fell forward, crashing heavily into the sludgy lake. The splash erupted high into the air, tiny Yeerk bodies flailing helplessly, some splatting down onto the pool edges. The rest of the train fell sideways onto the rusty liquid surface.

The train settled. The frenzy began.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

No one in the base knew what to do. Nothing had happened like this before, nor did anything think it would. Controllers gathered around the edge of the lake to observe the enormous wreckage that had tainted the Yeerk pool. Sub-Vissers began shouting out orders, but even they seemed unsure.

No one wanted to be blamed for such an accident, but with Visser One lurking around somewhere, heads were bound to roll for such a disaster. This idea was something that seemed to cross Yeerk minds, and they were panicking.

Howson and I, as well as a majority of the hosts around us, watched through our bars at the scenes, curious as to what was happening. From our cell, we could see very little. The train had travelled a good distance into the pool, and lay somewhere nearer to Stations 5 and 6. I squinted to get a better look at the reactions of the controllers in that area. They were in a frenzy.

"I pity the guy who let this happen…" I whispered over to Howson. He paid no notice of me, gazing suspiciously at the wreckage.

From this distance, I could just barely see figures emerging from the side of the train, standing above the surface of the pool. I didn't understand how any human could survive such a crash, but somehow they were unscathed, at least from what I could see being so far away.

Something else was with the humans. Something blue, but I couldn't see it clearly enough to figure it out.

The controllers in that area began to pay attention to the figures on the train.

I thought they were frightened before. Now they were riotous. The controllers started screaming, loud enough for those of us halfway across the base to hear them. The Yeerks in that local area were the first to panic, but the effect spread out either side like a line of tumbling dominoes. The noise level picked up dramatically, drawing closer as the mystery news spread around the edges of the base.

There was a single announcement that was being passed through the whole base that was causing the distress. It came to us soon enough, sending deep shivers up my spine. "There are bombs on the train!"

No one was silent anymore. From then, all that could be heard were the screams from both hosts and controllers.

I stared at Howson, the only person around who still seemed dignified after the news. He still looked fearful, though.

"Bombs…" He mouthed.

I was still recovering from the feeling of hairs standing on my neck. My hands clasped onto the bars, and I yelled at the nearest controllers, "Get us out of these cages!"

My desperate cry was one echo of a great chorus. The lines of cages around the base were delivering similar messages to the captors. Across the pool, back near the fallen train, controllers were beginning to obey the orders of the hosts. Cell locks were smashed, doors ripped from their hinges.

Sub-Vissers fought for control in the desperate situation, but were having little luck. Controllers were beginning to leave the base, taking any exit they could find.

Our own sub-Visser came into view. He was holding a megaphone to him mouth. "Open the cages! There are bombs on the train! Less than four minutes remaining!"

"Four minutes?!" I yelled to myself, sweat readily pouring from my forehead now.

Howson pulled me by my left shoulder, and despite all the madness around us, he was still thinking rationally, shouting into my ear, "Steven! When they let us free, run for the exit behind the barracks! It will take you on a straight path so you can get out of the blast radius!"

I shook my head at him. "I need to find my wife!"

"Does she know you're here?!"

"Yes! She's knows I'm here! She knows my station!"

He nodded. "Wait for her, then leave!"

All around the base, controllers were taking large tools or pieces of metal, smashing cell locks to free the trapped hosts. No one needed orders anymore, the instructions were clear to all: Free some hosts if possible, then leave as fast as you can.

I stared out from my cage and begged a passing man for help. He turned to look, but sprinted off towards the exit. I cursed him and slammed my fist on the cage bars.

It didn't take long to be freed, though. The sub-Visser had finished announcing the alerts and had found a large set of wire cutters. He moved from cage to cage, breaking locks as quick as the tool would allow. From the other direction, more controllers were breaking cages, but the sub-Visser reached us first. He sliced open the lock and left with a simple message: "Good luck."

We burst out from the cage, all six of its inhabitants squeezing through the narrow opening. They disbanded, but both I and Howson remained by the cage.

"Get out of here, Howson!" I yelled at him. But he didn't listen. Instead he took a loose piece of metal from beside our cage and began to aid the sub-Visser in breaking the locks on the remaining cages.

That was not my priority. I bustled my way through a small crowd and found an open space. Brenda would not be able to find me in among large groups, so I had to find myself as much space as possible. As the base quickly started to empty, this task became easier. I shouted out her name repeatedly, hoping to make my voice loud enough for her to hear.

Madness had erupted around the base. There was no real order to the proceedings. People were knocked over as they crammed into narrow base exits, pushing their way through in desperation to escape the blast radius. By now, most cages had been unlocked, and there was no telling the difference between freed hosts and controllers. In such a state of panic, everyone was the same. The medical bays at each station were being invaded by humans in search of emergency supplies. Hork-Bajir were raiding the nursery to rescue the cubs trapped inside. Taxxons screeched incoherently, crawling into small holes they had made in the deep cavern walls.

The noise was lessening as the base became more and more deserted, but from somewhere I heard a familiar voice, bobbing over the remaining screams of Yeerks and hosts.

"Steven!"

I swivelled on my feet and moved my head to see past crowds of humans and Hork-Bajir. "Brenda! I'm here Brenda!"

Then I saw her, tears streaming down her face, running and stumbling towards me. I found myself running as well, and we collided by the side of the rippling pool, embracing in a tight, teary hug.

There wasn't much to say, except, "Brenda, we have to leave, right now!"

She nodded into my shoulder and disengaged from the hug. "Which way?"

"This way!" It was Howson's voice. He rushed to our side, panting. "The exit behind Station 2 barracks. The stairwell is wide and straight. That's our best chance."

So we ran as fast as our legs could take us towards the station barracks, past groups of confused and frightened hosts and controllers. We shouted to them on our way past, ordering them to follow. They did so without hesitation.

We approached the tunnel. It was the same tunnel that I had first descended when taken by the Yeerks. It was long, but wide and with enough space to charge up unimpeded.

Before we could enter, I heard my name from behind. I turned to search out the source but kept moving, almost tripping over a loose cage door. From behind the barracks came a Hork-Bajir, bounding at full speed in our direction.

Brenda had noticed my distraction, and followed my eyes. "Twig?! But…!"

"No time to ask, Brenda!" I shouted. "Let's just go!"

Twig had caught up to us as we ascended the rocky stairwell. Our feet stumbled and twisted horribly over the uneven steps, but we were too determined to escape to care. Brenda collapsed once, but Howson lifted her to her feet and we continued on, following the trail of a group of Hork-Bajir who had speeded on ahead.

Suddenly, the ground shook violently, sending us all to the floor. The earthquake was followed by an ear-shattering blast.

We were so close to the exit now. We could see the opening where the fake oak tree had slid aside. We saw the group ahead of us exit and disperse.

Something grabbed my waist as I tried to lift myself, and it hoisted me upwards. I looked down to see a scaly green arm gripped tightly around me. Twig had taken me, and under his right arm he held Brenda and Howson.

This whole time, he had been slowing his pace to stay by our side. Now he was free to sprint. He kicked his feet, and in spite of the extra weight that we added, he zoomed with great speed towards the exit.

There was a huge burst of orange glow from behind us, a fireball blasting towards us as the bombs continued to explode. Twig stumbled and had to regain his composure with each explosion, but we were so close to the opening now.

Unbearable heat began to engulf us, fast approaching from behind. Brenda screamed, but the sound was easily dominated by the roar of the bombs below.

We reached the opening and Twig jumped onto soft grass, just as the heat emerged as a huge fireball that spat from the hole behind us. The shockwave blew us forward, the four of us being flung through the air. I was slammed hard to the ground.

Things went blank. I don't know how long for.

I woke with the side of my face in deep woodland litter. I groaned, feeling my body wrapped in pain. We had hit the ground with great force, and I had consequently bounced into nearby bushes. I couldn't feel my right arm from the elbow downwards. It was broken.

With my one good arm, I lifted myself so that I could sit up straight. Holding my sore head, my eyes observed the area.

The ground was covered in bodies. I gasped, partly with a sharp pain in my ribs, partly at the sight of the injured, squirming and writhing people around me. Humans, Hork-Bajir, Taxxons. Some of them were dead.

I drew from my memories. They were scattered, but I started to recall what had happened.

Brenda! Where was she?!

I struggled to get to my feet. My left leg was damaged, but not broken, leaving me limping heavily. I pulled myself free of the underbrush and called out for her to no reply.

"Brenda…" I whimpered. "I'm here Brenda."

I trudged past the recovering bodies of strangers, searching for any signs of her. Howson and Twig as well.

My eyes caught sight of long brown hair. I stumbled as fast as I could over to it. I had found Brenda. Her body was laid on its back, eyes closed.

Her chest rose and fell. She was alive.

I collapsed to her side in tears, wrapped my good arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. My hand moved up and cupped her head, and I stared down at her.

Brenda's own eyes flickered and opened up. "Steven?"

I smiled down at her, tears still dripping from my eyes. "We're okay, Brenda. We're alive."

She was in pain, but it didn't stop a relieved grin spreading over her face. Her arms lifted and wrapped around me, and we embraced, both sobbing on each other's shoulder. She noticed my arm and touched it sadly.

With my good arm, I lifted her to her feet. She lifted her hands to her mouth and gasped, finally witnessing the scenes around us. I held her again and tried to draw attention away, but she was insistent.

"Twig…" She whispered. "He's alive. He saved us… Where is he?"

I shook my head. "I don't know."

Brenda had suffered bruising and what I suspected to be a cracked rib, but she was more mobile than me, and held me under the shoulders as we trudged around the gruesome scene in search of the Hork-Bajir.

We found him sat up beside the body of another Hork-Bajir. It was dead, but Twig had his hand pressed to its arm, gently nudging it in, perhaps in a naïve attempt to resuscitate it.

He noticed us, but he instantly turned back to face the deceased Hork-Bajir and gave up nudging it. Brenda carefully let go of me and lumbered over to him. "Twig!"

Twig didn't react, even when Brenda reached out to him to hold his hands.

"Twig…" Brenda whispered, now riddled with concern. "Are you okay?"

He closed his eyes and pushed Brenda gently away. Then he turned to sit facing the other way. Brenda looked bemused and looked to me for an answer. I shrugged, suspecting his reasons, but not wishing to worry Brenda anymore right at this time.

The three of us were reunited, but four of us had jumped from of the base. Howson would be somewhere around here.

I spotted him. He was about fifteen feet to our left, slumped against a large tree. I sprawled over to my fallen cell-mate, but as I got closer, a feeling of dread rolled over me.

His chest was still, and blood dripped down over his eyes. He had collided with the tree head-first. He was gone.

Tears rolled down my cheek again, and I carefully kneeled down beside his body. I checked for a pulse, for any sign of breathing, but it was too late.

Brenda had made her way to my side. Her hand fell onto my shoulders.

"He helped me." I said mournfully. "He kept me sane in that hell. He was the only one I ever really talked to..."

Brenda pulled me up, and we held each other once again. She comforted me over the loss, whispering messages of hope into my ear. But we had lost more than Howson.

We turned to face the destruction behind us. Smoke billowed from the hole in the ground beneath the fake oak tree. Past that, far into the distance where the town was stood, was a great black pillar that rose steadily up to the sky. The base was gone, and it had taken the town with it. There were the sounds of sirens and screams far off in that direction.

We were lucky to escape the way we did. Our exit took us away from the blast zone, whereas a lot of other base exits twisted and turned, opening above the ground where they base lay. The rock ceiling of the complex had probably collapsed. Not many would have survived.

For minutes we sat and listened. The views of the city were blocked off by trees and hills, but the sounds told us enough of the story.

"What do we do now?" Brenda asked shakily, clutching onto my arm.

Around us, those who were still alive were recovering. They moaned, stretched their aching bodies, inspected and mourned the dead. Some would be controllers, some would be freed hosts, but that didn't matter anymore. No one would fight. There was no need.

They moved to join us, listening to the scenes unfurl from the town before us.

"I suppose we go home."


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

The air was buzzing with helicopters, like a swarm of seagulls after a burger stand on a hot summer day. They blew over the woods where we stood, causing trees to rustle, and the smoke from the tunnel to engulf us. We watched as they circled the once proud town before us. There were helicopters for TV stations, radio networks. There were police copters, fire copters, and copters to airlift the injured to neighbouring towns. This event was going to be worldwide news.

Meanwhile, we were stood in our little opening amongst a few survivors. They were confused, angry, fearful, but most of all, they were relieved. Most of them were, anyway. Some of them were quick to split away from the group, with intention not to be noticed doing so. Without doubt, they were controllers who felt the need to run off in search of any small Yeerk base they could find, any hint of Kandrona they could feed upon.

This was a huge blow to the Yeerks. A vital, perhaps even fatal turning point. Unless they were fortunate enough to be at a small operational base with its own Yeerk pool, they would have at most three days to survive. After that, they would die, and the host would walk freely again.

So our group of survivors dwindled. There were a few spats in that short space of time, when some of them became suspicious of others. The controllers wouldn't reveal their identities in fear of attack from freed hosts. However, by the time our group stopped losing members, it seemed as if all the Yeerks had left. We were all freed hosts.

Most of the people in our group had lost their homes. They were residents of the town that was now up in smoke, and they had nowhere to go. They clumped together, and initially decided to head down to the town, the outskirts of which may have remained unaffected. With some persuasion, they decided instead to head to the next town over while the world media and the local services tried to control the damage the area had received.

We had our home nearby, so we remained. We could return home and hopefully find it unaffected by the event, without any now-homeless refugees trying to squat inside.

The surviving Hork-Bajir weren't quite as indecisive as the humans. They had an entire woodland now to reside in, but the unfamiliarity of the trees and the presence of human military nearby frightened them. In the end, they had no other option but to run for the trees in search of others.

Twig remained by our side, even after invitations from the other Hork-Bajir to join them. Despite his apparent loyalty, he still wouldn't speak to us, nor did he really speak to anyone. His eyes were eternally drawn to the ground, his tail drooped between his legs like a punished dog.

The three of us slowly made our way home. I had taken off my shirt and Brenda helped to tie it around my arm as a bandage, but my leg was not quite so easy to manage, and Brenda offered herself as a crutch for the journey back. I was numb, but Brenda was now in pain, her ribs aching with each intake of breath. Normally we would have gone straight to the hospital, but now that it was no longer possible, we would have to return home and care for our bodies ourselves until we could readily travel to the next town.

Our conversations were limited, mostly just making sure that we were all able to continue or whether we wanted to take a break. We were too exhausted to talk about anything else. Yes, we were angry, frustrated, saddened, and frightened, but most of all, we were relieved. That relief, for now, made everything else irrelevant.

We arrived home. It looked as if nothing had happened: A couple of lights were on inside, the flora that decorated patches outside were nicely trimmed. There was no car, but that was the only thing that seemed unusual. My keys were still on my person.

I don't know why, but the opening of the front door seemed like some momentous occasion. I placed the key in the lock, and turned to Brenda with a look of pure satisfaction as I turned it. The door opened, and the warm, cosy air of the inside breezed over our skin. We did not laugh or jump around with joy; we simply stood in the hallway in silent awe.

We were ourselves, and we were finally home.

Brenda closed the front door behind us, and then rubbed her fingers down the mended crack from when the door was destroyed all those weeks ago. She turned her head to me, and she smiled.

I returned the smile. "I'll go put some coffee on."

The kitchen was just how I remembered it. Of course, it had only been a few days since I was last in there, but under the control of Yarfush, it became something foreign. Now I could touch things with my own hands, twist the taps on my own whim. I could drink coffee and taste it with my own tongue, and oh how I was looking forward to that!

I poured two coffees and a large glass of water for Twig. Brenda was off exploring the house, making it just the way she wanted it again. I waited for her to return downstairs and put our drinks on the living room table.

Twig was there, stood in the corner of the room where his blankets used to be. I felt a stab of guilt as he stared at the ground where they used to sit, and then searched around for them. He didn't know that Yarfush had thrown them out, and I didn't really want to tell him. He eventually gave up, and simply curled up on the cold hard floor.

Brenda arrived in the living room soon enough, but upon spotting Twig, she rushed off to find some spare blankets or pillows. He accepted the new blankets when they came, but was uninterested when she attempted to comfort him. Coming to the conclusion the he was inconsolable, we decided to leave him alone for a while to settle. Of the three of us, he was probably the most dazed from the experience. So much had happened for him in the last few weeks that he had most likely overloaded. We would try again to comfort him tomorrow after he had slept on his own accord.

I and Brenda took our usual places on the couch and turned on the television. We weren't sitting down to watch another horrid game show or a football game. We doubted that those would be shown anyway, in light of today's events. Instead, we watched the television to observe just how much damage had been caused to our local town.

Every major channel was covering it, and they would probably continue to do so for days. The centre of the town had been obliterated. The ground above the Yeerk cavern had imploded as the bombs shook the Earth, and what lay above it collapsed into the space created. From the air, the centre of town just looked like one huge messy crater. The major downtown area was almost completely gone. The mall, the banks… the hospital.

Most of the TV reporters stayed far back, going live from the edges of town where they could just about see the crater and the smoke that rose into the air. Others moved in close, and gave us pictures that were a lot more in-depth.

I don't think they were allowed to show dead bodies close up, but they did so from a distance. The outskirts of the crater were lined with corpses. I saw Brenda bring her hands over her mouth in the corner of my eye. The scenes were desperately tragic.

The area was secured, with only emergency services and the military allowed to roam the affected areas. The police, the firefighters and the paramedics arrived in huge numbers to look for and rescue survivors. Initially, as the reporter described, they only aided the injured humans, but information from other sources arrived soon after the paramedics got to work, and they began tending to the injured Hork-Bajir as well. The rescued were distributed to several hospitals in neighbouring towns. However, the number of injured was much less than the number killed.

Brenda and I watched in silence as the numbers on each tally rose. The reporters on-scene seemed just as tense and fearful as one would expect in such a situation, but they tried to show as much optimism as they could. The event was tragic, but at the same time it was also a great step forward. The main Yeerk base was destroyed, and that meant a great turning point in a war that at first often seemed unwinnable. Reports were coming in as smaller Yeerk outposts across the country were taken by the American military, and these events were becoming frequent.

The Yeerks were out of places to run. Those that remained on the ground would starve to death, deprived of their precious Kandrona, and the TV pundits made that very clear.

There was hope for this war. It was long from over, but we finally had a chance. There would be little to no more infestation of human hosts, at least from what we were told.

One more thing was made clear: The next three days would be hell. All over, people would be hunching over, clawing at their head, pulling Yeerk slugs from their ear. Families would learn the true identities of loved ones, brothers would learn that sisters were not quite their sisters. This caused a great deal of paranoia, apparent in interviews of locals whose lives were thrown into turmoil by the events.

News panellists debated ferociously as to the human race's next steps. They debated the morality of starving controllers and blowing up Yeerk pools. They debated what to do with the Hork-Bajir who now roamed the deserted streets and the countryside without a home, and what to do with suspected controllers. Everyone knew that this would cause great tensions within the populations, that people would be prosecuted and harassed.

It truly felt like war. Nothing was certain. Nothing was safe.

"Can we even stay here?" Brenda asked me as we watched a FOX news panel discussing the detaining of known controllers. "In our home, I mean."

It was something that I had been thinking about ever since we got here. We were a few miles away from town, far enough not to be disturbed by the rescue efforts. We were isolated, with no one else ever really allowed. We lived hidden in the middle of the woods.

"We are fine here, I think," I said. "But we will need to stock up on food. We'll need a car. And we'll need guns."

Brenda nodded, much to my surprise. She had always held an aversion to firearms, and would never allow for one in our house. But she knew better now. We needed protection, because there was no telling where this war would lead. I didn't intend to spend the rest of my days sleeping with one eye open.

The sky was soon black, but we didn't feel like sleeping. We stayed in the living room, sharing a glass of wine to celebrate our freedom, whilst keeping the television on to keep up with the events as they came in. More and more Yeerk bases were being captured, and the news stations displayed birds-eye videos of log cabins, large isolated building and caves where Yeerk outposts were being discovered.

We tended to our injuries, for which my profession came in handy. I was able to bandage up suspected broken bones so that further injury would be avoided. Despite such handicaps, we decided that tomorrow would be spent walking to the nearest town and purchasing a new car. We desperately needed one. I would leave the choice of car up to Brenda.

Twig was another thing that needed attention. His injuries were not on the outside, which would make the task of consoling him much more difficult. For the entire night, he was curled up on the floor, his back to us. Thankfully, he took his water, but apart from that and his new blankets, it was all he would accept. He sobbed occasionally, but we left him to mourn alone.

Deep inside, below the overwhelming relief that invaded my mind that night, I knew that the war going on around us wasn't going to be our only struggle. Brenda and I avoided conversations that would be awkward, but eventually we would have to settle some major issues. She knew of my affair now, and I really wasn't looking forward to discussing it.

Sooner or later, I knew she would bring it up. I didn't know what would become of our relationship, and some part of me knew that we would remain together at least until this war was over. But when this war would eventually end - if it ever did - our future was uncertain. Could she still love me? Could she still share a house with me? Had the events of today renewed her trust in me?

Those questions would have to wait.

Before we retired to the bedroom, I stayed behind downstairs. I observed the changes that our house had gone through since Yarfush had resided here. The rooms were cleaner, the paperwork that had once been strewn over our furnishings had been neatly piled away. The house was revitalised, once again habitable.

But Yarfush was dead now, as was Decran. The patient, cunning mind that once accompanied mine had disappeared, but in its place it left a void. It felt like something was missing. Silence sat where a voice used to ponder. It was a bitter, nagging loneliness.

Howson was right. Yarfush was becoming a part of me, and I was becoming part of him. With his demise, a piece of me left. I couldn't be sure which part of me that was. Perhaps I would never know.

I put down my empty wine glass and headed off for sleep. Tomorrow was going to be tough.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

I never thought the relief would disappear so quickly. The moment my head dropped against my pillow that night, it simply vanished, and a deep mix of negative emotions took its place. My mind up to that point had been distracted by the events unfolding around us, either physically or through television reports, but now there was nothing to distract it. I didn't sleep a wink.

My mind swirled, replaying every horrible memory that I had witnessed during my time under Yarfush's control. The whole time it felt as if he was still there, reading and judging every thought that ran through my mind. My body would freeze completely until I realised that I was the one in control.

I saw the faces of the three soldiers I had killed. I pictured fictional families for them, crying themselves to sleep at night over their early deaths. I heard Twig's betrayed cries when Yarfush turned his back on him. I pictured Brenda, her face being manipulated by Decran's grasp.

I pictured a future alone when Brenda left me. She couldn't accept me. She hated me for betraying her loyalty.

It wasn't just me who failed to sleep. About an hour after going to bed, Brenda suddenly burst out crying, wrapping her face in pillows. I sat up immediately and reached for her shoulder. The comfort I offered eventually calmed her, but she looked at me with eyes drowned in fear. Her hands were shaking.

Such episodes occurred several times that night. And she was not the only one to suffer them.

At about 3 in the morning, just as I was finally falling into some sleep, we were both shocked by a loud outburst from downstairs. Twig was screaming, howling at the top of his voice. We rushed downstairs to find him sat up in the centre of the room, howling constantly at the living room windows.

Brenda kneeled down beside the Hork-Bajir and tried desperately to hush him, but his cries to no one continued. I poured him out another glass of water, though it was impossible to help him drink in his horrified state.

He calmed when Brenda placed blankets over his shoulders, and she carefully leaned his head over her shoulder, gently massaging his neck and shushing him quietly. Then we allowed him to drink the water, and he crawled back to his corner. Fortunately, it only happened once that night. I'm not sure how well he slept, but he didn't start screaming again.

I knew that this would happen, but I didn't expect it so soon. The mental effects were beginning to take hold, and by the time I and Brenda woke up for breakfast, we were both shaken from anxiety and lack of sleep.

Coffee was a welcome pleasure to my dishevelled mind, but it would do nothing to cure the grief that circled it. We decided over breakfast to head inland for the next town over. Our first priority was to rent a car from a local dealership. Secondly, once we were fully mobile, we were to gather food and other essentials.

Then we would buy some protection. Guns, obviously.

There was one major issue that we may have had to face on such tasks: We couldn't run the risk of being suspected as controllers. This would be difficult, considering that we actually _were_ controllers. With both of us having vanished for several days as soon as the Yeerk invasion was revealed, we couldn't make our presence obvious to the authorities. Similarly, we would have to avoid people that we knew personally.

If they were still alive, that is. What a depressing thought to cross my mind…

Twig was already up and moving as we descended the stairs that morning. He had turned on the television to yet another cable news station. It was unusual, because whenever Twig watched morning television, it was always children's educational television or MTV. We entered the living room after our coffee to find him flattened against the sofa, eyes fixated on NBC anchors discussing yesterday's events. He didn't watch it with us yesterday, so it was a small relief that he had brought himself to do it today. He probably didn't understand much of what the pundits were saying, but hey, it was progress.

Brenda began preparing breakfast for the both of us, but since Yarfush had thrown out all of Twig's old things, there was nothing inside for him to eat. We would have to fetch some loose bark later on. I added it to my mental list of things to do and sat beside him on the sofa.

Two of the panellists on the TV were discussing Taxxons who had escaped the base before it had exploded. Twig was showing slight interest, but he seemed equally focused on his own twiddling fingers.

"You sure you don't want to watch MTV, Twig?" I asked him.

He replied with a subtle shake of the head.

I spoke as invitingly as I could. I didn't want to appear frustrated to him. "How come you're watching NBC, anyway?"

"Twig want to." The Hork-Bajir mumbled.

I sighed and rubbed at my eyes in exhaustion. "Look, Twig, if there's anything you want to talk about, we're here for you."

Again, he was unresponsive, and he diverted his gaze away from me.

My mind recalled my first few times in the Yeerk base, when I would sit in silence in my cell just as Twig was doing now. I remembered Howson and how he persuaded me to properly express my angst. "Twig, if I've learnt anything from this experience, it's that you can't hide yourself away from people. You can't isolate yourself, because it helps no one."

It seemed to work, and Twig looked back to me. "Twig see TV long time ago." He started. "TV show Hell. Hell is bad place."

I raised an eyebrow, but agreed with a nod. "Yeah, hell is a bad place, but I don't think-"

"Twig think Twig go to Hell." He sobbed. "Twig do bad and die. Go to Hell…"

His large claws raised and rubbed over his torso where the collection of scarred bullet wounds sat prominently.

"You didn't die Twig," I reassured. "And you didn't go to Hell."

He lay back against the sofa and snorted. "Then Twig think is dream. Twig so confused!"

I noticed Brenda observing us from a distance, deciding that I should take this task on by myself. I shot her a glance that asked why she couldn't help, but she remained where she was.

"I'm afraid it wasn't a dream, either, Twig."

He nodded slowly. "Twig know what Twig is now… Twig is Hork-Bajir. Twig is slave."

"No." I said instinctively. "No. Not anymore. You're back home now."

Twig let out a small whimper and looked away from me again.

"I'm sorry if you feel like we abandoned you, or somehow caused the pain you went through." I said. "We want the best for you Twig, and we would never do that to you. You know that, right?"

He forced a smile. "Twig know. Twig just scared."

"Good." I smiled back and patted him on the knee. "We'll get you some food today, and some new blankets."

He looked to me as I got up from the sofa. "Where Twig's old blankets?"

I hesitated. "We, uh… We lost them. I'm sorry."

Brenda expressed her appreciation as I re-entered the kitchen area. We had our breakfast and sat down to watch the television with Twig. He became a little more talkative in that period, and soon was leaning against Brenda and looking up to her as if he were a child again. At least for now, he seemed to be over the worst.

We checked the news channels for updates before we left for the town closest inland in case of any developments that might get in our way. Suspected controllers were now being detained in local prisons for at least three days to starve any Yeerk present. A lot of people objected for cruelty to hosts, but according to officials, there were no other safe options. There was still no decision on what to do with the Hork-Bajir, and reports stated that those freed were congregating in the woods around us. We stared from the living room windows a lot more frequently after that report.

Brenda managed to find an old cane in the attic which would come in very useful for the walk. She had no intention of being my personal crutch for the duration, and so the cane was a great relief to her. I got used to walking with it, and then we set off eastwards.

The walk was long but quiet. Roads through the woods were mostly unused because no one wanted to go anywhere near the destroyed town. A couple of cars past, but they refused to pull over for us. It was understandable in the current situation. Halfway through the woodland roads, we noticed a small group of Hork-Bajir feasting on some pines. They darted away into the dense field of trees when they spotted us.

An hour or so into the walk, we emerged into more open territory, and we spotted large buildings off in the distance.

We soon arrived on the outskirts. The town was almost deserted, which came as no great shock. Those who walked the streets were rushing, looking over their shoulders and glaring at us as we moved along by. Driveways were empty, houses were abandoned, and the only cars around were speeding away from the centre of town for the highways. We began to doubt our decision to come here, knowing that so many people will have deserted homes and businesses. Most would be escaping to places as far away as possible.

We found a small business park somewhere to the north of the area and, like the rest of town, it was largely abandoned. Our luck allowed us to find a car dealership pretty early on, and from what we could see, it was still in business. However, most of the cars had disappeared, and as we walked in, we saw just two staff members. They had just finished dealing with another couple, who rushed off as quickly they were given a new set of keys. From what I overheard, they were heading to the next state over.

We approached the older of the two staff members.

"Hello!" He greeted enthusiastically. "My name is George. I'm the owner of this dealership."

I was impressed that in days like these, a man could continue with the typical entrepreneur flair. He smiled warmly and shook our hands.

"Hi, George." I said formally. "We're so relieved to find a car dealership still in business!"

He nodded. "What better time to sell cars when everyone wants to get as far away from town as possible? We sold most of our vehicles in a single day!" He signalled out the other staff member, who had retired to the back rooms. "Most of our staff left, but I and my son Billy stayed behind. There are a lot of people out there without cars now. They need people like us."

"Like we do now." I acknowledged.

It was a pleasant revelation to see that there were still people around willing to lend a hand. George and his son were staying put despite the obvious dangers to make sure passers-by like us could get good transport. It was selfless people like him who restored my faith in humanity.

He showed us around the mostly empty showrooms with the usual dealer grace, but knowing our desperate situation, he wasn't going to bullshit us into buying the most expensive vehicle that he had. He asked what we needed, where we planned to travel and how much room we would need. I let Brenda do most of the talking, knowing that every car I would pick out would be wrong. That's just the way it is.

She made it clear to George that we didn't want a two-seater. We were no longer just a two-person family, and she took Twig's presence into consideration. In case of another emergency, we wouldn't leave Twig behind, so our car would need plenty of room in the back. Enough for a giant space lizard, anyway.

Brenda settled with some hideous pile of red garbage. I didn't expect anything less, but I decided not to make it into a debate. A car was a car, and that's all that really mattered.

That thing was seriously ugly, though…

"I like it." Brenda commented, looking at me.

I nodded and turned away to hide the grimace on my face.

George handed us both small booklet on the car model and guided us through some basic information, and when Brenda decided that she wanted it, a big grin shone over his face.

"Oh fantastic!" He beamed. "If you don't mind, I'll just go get the form for you to fill out. I won't be too long."

George strolled to his office, swinging a set of key rings around his finger. He closed the office door behind him, and left us to admire the monstrosity of a car.

"You just had to pick the car equivalent of Quasimodo, didn't you?" I groaned.

"It's big, efficient and cheap, Steven. You're only one of those things." She snapped back. "It's not like we have many options, anyway: This place is empty!"

"That's no surprise." I said. "Everyone's leaving town, so everyone's getting a new car. It's no wonder George stays here. He'll be making a fortune."

Our conversation was interrupted when George returned from the offices. He handed us a clipboard with a couple of forms attached. "If you would just like to sign these papers." He chirped. "It's just to get your details and such. I'll leave you to sign them while I find the other papers."

I nodded and took the clipboard, thanking him. He left again for the offices, and I began to fill out the form. It was nothing unusual: Just names, addresses, phone numbers…

Then something stuck me, and I stopped writing.

"Is something wrong, Steven?" Brenda asked, noticing my hesitation while admiring the world's ugliest car.

My head buzzed with the new realisation that had popped its ugly head up. I closed my eyes and cursed under my own breathe. I had been an idiot.

"We can't do this." I mumbled to her. "We have to go."

She gave me a look of confusion. "What? Steven, we need a car!"

"I know we do." I huffed impatiently. "But we can't get one. Not now."

"Why?"

I held the clipboard up to her and tapped the details with the pen. "They're taking our details, Brenda."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be an idiot, Steven. Every dealer takes customer details."

"I know that." I growled. "And we'll be on their databases."

I let that sink in, and I could see the clogs churning in her head. Her eyes widened when she finally came to the same disturbing conclusion.

We left the dealership before George returned, leaving the clipboard and pen beside the car. We took the half-filled-in form, screwed it up and threw it into bushes a few hundred yards down the road.

We were so close to making a really stupid error. Handing our details over to any business meant that our names were still active. It meant that we were still alive and operating in the local area.

Both of us had disappeared for days when the invasion was revealed to the public and that would not have gone unnoticed by our superiors. They would have suspected the truth: We were controllers. We carried Yeerk slugs in our heads.

Now that the state was detaining suspected controllers, we had to be on our toes. I considered how the state could possible identify suspected Yeerks, and it had finally occurred to me.

If our names appeared anywhere, if we signed up to anything, filled out any forms, they would track us down. If we could avoid making ourselves known, we may be considered dead or missing.

Giving our details to George's car dealership meant that we would have revealed ourselves. We would be tracked, rounded up, and thrown into a prison for at least three days. That wouldn't seem so bad, but we couldn't run the risk of losing Twig again, especially with the state still indecisive with how to handle to Hork-Bajir. For all we knew, the officials could decide to round them all up and have them shot or thrown into filthy concentration camps. We needed to be around to protect Twig.

We couldn't buy or hire a car. We couldn't buy guns or go to the hospital to get our injuries tended to. We couldn't do anything that required our identities to be given. We were stranded.

The two of us debated and argued, but in the end we had no choice. Without transport, we would need to stock up on supplies and wait in silence for the war to eventually pass over.

Thankfully, we were still able to gather food and drink, but without the car that we had originally planned to be driving home in, we were limited to three hands with which to carry bags back with us.

Brenda was thoughtful enough to come up with a worthy solution, and we searched around for a shop that sold suitcases. We managed to find a couple, trudged through an abandoned supermarket and loaded them up with as much food and drink as possible. After that, we slunk off home with a great cloud of defeat hung over our heads.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

We returned home late in the afternoon. While Brenda sorted out the shopping, I left the house with a large carrier bag and gathered some food for Twig. I brought it back for him, just as Brenda was preparing some soup for our dinner. We weren't going to be eating too ambitiously for a while, so we needed to adjust. Vegetable soup was a good start, but I knew it wouldn't fully fill the hole in my stomach.

Twig scarfed down the bark the moment it was set down before him. Eating something other than damp sawdust lifted his mood considerably, but there was still a sense of great inner pain that radiated from him. I sat with him until dinner was ready, watching the news reports come in, since he refused to watch anything else.

"Humans scared." He summarised as we watched another panel discussion.

"Well, there _is_ a war going on." I pointed out.

He looked to me. "What happen after war, Steven?"

I shrugged. "If we win? I don't really know. Perhaps we try to live normally again. Brenda and I could get new jobs, maybe a new house…"

Twig paused, and his eyes focused again on the television. "Humans talk on TV earlier. Talk about Hork-Bajir."

"Oh yeah?" I perked up. "And what did they say, Twig?"

"One human say things about Hork-Bajir. Say bad things."

I sighed. Twig often came up with such little things to worry about, but this was a new one. "I wouldn't worry about it, Twig. People are panicking. Some are bound to say stupid things."

"Twig stay with Steven and Brenda?" He asked, and I saw the fear returning to his eyes. "Twig be taken away again?"

I shook my head and smiled at him. "They won't take you away. Humans aren't Yeerks." I reassured him, though deep down inside I wasn't quite so sure of myself.

To my surprise, Twig saw through it. "Steven say to Twig before: Some humans bad. Not all football players. Not all singers. What if bad human comes?"

I shuddered inwardly, but I had to keep him reassured. "Twig, we will do anything we can to protect you. Believe me, we've sacrificed enough already to make sure that you are safe."

"Thank you." He smiled, finally looking a little more certain.

"I'm sure humans will come to accept your people," I said. "You just wait and see."

We finished our conversation, and I left Twig with the television to check up on Brenda. She was just finishing up the soup and serving it into two dinner bowls. I sliced up some French bread and helped lay out the dinner table.

Brenda was suspiciously silent, and as we sat down to start our soup, I began to understand why. This was where we would host the talk that had been hanging on our tongues since we fled the Yeerk base. She dipped a slice of bread in her soup and sighed.

"So…" She began. "We finally have some time to talk."

"I guess so." I replied.

She let go of her bread, letting it sink to the side of the dinner bowl. "I want to say thank you."

"Thank you?" I raised an eyebrow. "What for?"

She smiled. "For helping us to escape the Yeerk pool. For speaking to Twig. For… being there for me last night."

I didn't really know what to say, so I took a sip of my dinner instead, keeping my eyes locked on her.

"I don't know quite what happened to you in the last few weeks." She continued. "Perhaps I don't want to know, but… you've changed."

I didn't really feel in the mood for soup anymore. I set down my spoon and pushed the bowl away. "I don't think anyone can remain unchanged after that."

Brenda nodded and looked me firmly in the eyes. "I thought I was going to die in that place, Steven. I thought maybe we would never see each other again, and…" Tears began welling up in her eyes, but she was trying to hold them back. "Sometimes that made me happy. I remembered our last moments together. I remember you trying to get us to leave, and I… I was too stupid to realise that perhaps you were being serious. I was too stubborn to believe you."

"Don't blame yourself for that, Brenda." I said. "You had every reason not to listen to me that night."

She wiped away a tear to gaze at me with narrowed eyes. There was something that she didn't quite believe or understand. "I thought we were over. I thought we could never be together again. But then Decran came. She took me home, and you were there."

"It wasn't me, Brenda." I said. "That was Yarfush."

"I know, I know." She sobbed. "But I didn't want to see you as one of them. Decran only made things worse."

A tinge of anger filled me. Perhaps I was fortunate to receive Yarfush. Decran never struck me as the kindest Yeerk around.

"I didn't feel much different," I told her. "I couldn't stand seeing you used like that. I couldn't stand Decran's gloating. I wanted to rip that slime right out of your head. I wanted to…" I stopped myself and let it hang.

"Then when… that night." Brenda said solemnly. "The wine night."

I nodded, but that all I could muster.

"You were having an affair all along." She muttered sadly. "I had started to believe you when you said you weren't, but I was right all along, wasn't I?"

"I…" Something clogged my throat, and I tried to rub it away.

"How long?" Brenda pressed.

I couldn't bring myself to say, and I sat forward on the table, arms crossed in front of me.

Then something seemed to spark in the empty void that occupied my mind. I needed to tell her the truth. If we were to remain together, there needed to be honesty.

"A year." I admitted ashamedly.

Brenda covered her eyes in her hands and began crying. I wanted desperately to comfort her, to wrap my arms around her shoulders, but I knew it would bring her no satisfaction. Eventually, she pulled her hands away, but her eyes remained glued to the table.

"Why, Steven? Why did you betray me like that, for a whole year? Why Cindy?"

"Times were tough." I said. "You know that as well as I do. We had just moved house, I couldn't stand my job, and you…" I hesitated. "I didn't think you loved me anymore."

She released another sob, but to my surprise, her hands reached forward on the table in front of me. I moved my unbandaged hand forward, and we held each other, our eyes finally meeting again.

"I _did_ love you, Steven. I did." Her lower lip quivered. "You just frustrated me. You weren't the man I married anymore. You used to be so fun, and you were ambitious and trusting. Then you got your new job, and the money started to go elsewhere. You changed, for the worse."

I felt tears of my own roll down my cheek, but I wasn't ashamed like I would have been before. I let them drip. "How?" I asked sincerely. "How did I change?"

"You lost all the fun. You didn't want to do anything anymore. You just wanted to sit in front of the TV. You wouldn't spend any time with me. You became so bitter and hateful. Suddenly all the world was spiting you. Nothing was good, everything was an annoyance."

All I could do was nod. She was right. For so long I simply lost interest in having fun, or doing things for the sake of others. I had become a sarcastic, sour man, and I knew that all too well.

"I hate to admit it, Steven, but Decran was right when she told you that I couldn't stand being around you. You weren't the person I loved anymore…"

"I know." I conceded. "And I'm sorry."

"And then the whole Cindy thing…" She clasped her face in her hands again and spoke through her fingers. "I lost all my trust in you."

My hand retook hers and clasped them a little tighter. I didn't want to let go. "And now? Is there anything left between us?"

Her reddened, watery eyes caught mine for the last time during that meal. "I don't know."

Dinner was finished in a contemplative silence. Our minds were such a cruel mix of emotions that we couldn't decipher them enough to express ourselves. I wanted so desperately for her to trust me again, but our revealed secrets had driven us even further apart. Helping her to escape the Yeerk base and being there for her and Twig in the aftemath had simply confused her. Could I really be there to protect her?

She said that I had changed. I knew that I had changed all those years ago, but had she seen further change in me? Had my experiences over the last few weeks altered my person? Had Brenda found something new in me that could make her trust me again?

My affair had really upset her, but my honesty in explaining why I felt the need to search for love elsewhere was something else she seemed to appreciate. I couldn't really tell if she hated me for it, or whether she felt reassured that I had gotten over it enough to explain my actions sincerely.

Either way, it wouldn't matter. We were stuck together for an unknown period of time now. We only had each other and Twig for company. This was no time to be alone.

We were sat in the bedroom later that evening, sorting through piles of fresh laundry. Chores nowadays were suddenly a welcome comfort, and we heartily indulged them enough to share them.

We talked a lot about nothing's for a while, and Brenda put on a brave face, but there was always a hint of sadness in her voice. She was still churning dreadful thoughts in her head, but like me she realised that in times like these, there was little point in separating ourselves further.

"Are you going to sort out dinner tomorrow, then?" Brenda asked during the conversation we were having.

I grinned. "Maybe we should let Twig make dinner again."

"Bark curry?" She retorted. "No thanks. You may be shocked to hear this, but I think you're a better cook. Just a little better…"

"Maybe if we actually taught him, instead of letting him pick up his recipes from commercials, he could cook something bearable." I suggested. "And just a little better?"

She shook her head and finished folding some clothes away into the bedside drawers. "We can't really afford to have him ruin our meals. We haven't got enough food in the house to waste."

My smile faded. "How long can we last on what we've got right now?"

"If we don't get bombed or raided by police offices, one or two weeks. After that, we'll have to head into town again."

I sighed heavily. "I'm not sure if we could just go over to the next town. The place was basically dead today. No one will be there in two weeks. Everyone's heading to Nevada and Oregon, and there's no way we're getting to _those_ places."

She considered, and then stared at me slyly. I knew what she was silently implying.

"You want to steal goods?" Then I paused and mulled it over. "Sounds like a good idea. We may even be able to find a car."

"Who's going to stop us?" She asked. "Who would care?"

"The police." I suddenly realised. "The military and all the others. They're still around you know, looking for Yeerks. You don't think they would arrest us?"

Her eyes dropped, disappointed. "You're right."

I finished up my share of this particular chore and stared at her across the room. "It's risky, I know, but maybe it's our only option."

She looked up again, quizzically. "What?"

"We'll go next week." I smiled. "I'm sure we could get away with it if we're careful, and anyway, we can't go on without food. Either we give it a try, or we revert to Twig's diet of bark and souls." I joked.

Her confused expression flickered to a brief smile, but then she blanked and looked away. "We can't go on living like this, Steven."

"I know," I agreed. "Do you think we should just hand ourselves in?"

She glared in return, perturbed by the idea. "We can't. We have Twig. I can't stand the thought of losing him again."

I held out my hands defensively. "Don't worry, I wasn't suggesting we throw him out or anything. All I'm saying is that sooner or later, we're going to need to do something about this situation. We can't live out the rest of our lives scavenging through bins and stealing cars. If this war ever ends and we somehow win, people will come back. We won't even be able to scavenge anymore. Someday, we'll be taken in for the required three days."

"Things may change by then." She mumbled, though her words sounded doubtful.

"We just have to hope, I suppose."

Brenda narrowed her eyes at me again suspiciously. I ignored it, and we both made our way downstairs. On the way down, we discussed how we would spend the rest of the week, and as we entered the kitchen, our options came down to either spending the rest of the days sitting around aimlessly, pitying ourselves, or just sitting around aimlessly and wasting our eyesight on the television. With no car, we were almost completely isolated, so it came as no surprise that there was nothing to do.

We turned the corner to the living room in the midst of discussing tomorrows dinner again, when we noticed Twig stood in the centre of the room, gaze fixed to the glass panel doors that led into the backyard.

Staring back at him was another Hork-Bajir, about ten feet from the doors. Brenda and I froze.

"Twig?" I whispered, announcing our presence. He turned his head to notice our arrival, then swivelled back to stare at the stranger outside.

No one really knew what to do. As far as I and Brenda knew, this new Hork-Bajir posed no danger, so we couldn't really justify shooing it off. It was hard to tell quite what was going through Twig's mind, and even he seemed flustered.

The strange Hork-Bajir was the first to make a decision. A goofy smile appeared on its face, and it strolled in Twig's direction.

Right into the glass door. It bounced off with a thud and appeared dazed for a few seconds. It shook its lizard head and approached the door again, with a little more caution this time.

Twig joined the approach, and the two stood inches apart, separated by the glass door that lay between them.

The new Hork-Bajir smiled, and twig smiled back. Then, from out of nowhere, three more of the fearsome creatures bounced down onto the lawn outside. They exchanged a few inaudible words with the first Hork-Bajir, and the four of them bounded off to the nearest wall of trees.

Twig's hands pressed to the glass, and he twisted to get a better view as they left. Within seconds, they had vanished from sight.

He remained at the doors for the rest of the day, even after we headed to bed. That night, he moved his blankets and water bowl right up to the glass, and slept under the moonlight. He was still there the next morning.

I thought we had a lot of hard decisions to make. Maybe Twig was going to make those decisions for us.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

They were everywhere. Charging across the grass, leaping from the tress. There was a thud as one hit the roof above us. We stared from the safety of the living room, watching with awe as they invaded our previously lonesome backyard. Within just a couple of hours, there were too many to count.

"Twig," I started. "Did you have anything to do with this?"

He was stood to my left, hands pressed longingly to the window. Sheepishly, he replied, "Maybe."

"What did you do?" Brenda spoke up from my right.

"When Twig in cage, speak to other Hork-Bajir." He said, eyes closed as he searched his memory. "Hork-Bajir ask where Twig come from. Twig say come from Steven and Brenda."

"Not literally." I felt compelled to say.

"Say Steven and Brenda protect Twig. Keep Twig safe."

"Well how did they know where we live?" Brenda asked.

"Twig tell Hork-Bajir about Steven and Brenda. Hork-Bajir see Twig yesterday through door."

"The one who nearly smashed our door, huh." I nodded. "So what? They think we're some sort of sanctuary now?"

Twig dipped his head and twiddled his toes. "Twig sorry." He said meekly.

Brenda and I exchanged a smile, and I patted Twig on the shoulder. "No need to be sorry, Godzilla. We just need to go outside and explain the situation."

I reached down and opened up the double-doors that led into the back garden, and we cautiously made our way out.

We walked out about ten feet and noticed that Twig hadn't moved. He remained stationed beside the opened doors, a look of uncertainty plastered on his face.

It struck me, and the situation brought a huff of laughter. Twig, in the whole two years that he had lived here, had never passed through the doors into our backyard. His nervous expression was his way of asking me for permission to leave the cramped safety of the home.

"You can come out, Twig." Brenda invited, holding out a hand for him.

He cautiously exited into the backyard, but as his tyrannosaurus feet touched the soft grass, all the anxiety seemed to drain, and he giddily bounced over to us.

All around us, Hork-Bajir were present. The one that had hit our roof was not alone, and at least five were gathered up there sharing out slabs of pine bark. Others hung in the trees that engulfed the medium-sized, isolated grassy area we called our land, steadily beginning to notice our arrival.

We were all a little nervous, to say the least. Our land was infested with seven-foot space goblins, and we were stood out in the open in the middle of them all.

But I had learnt enough about Hork-Bajir to know that we were in no real danger. We were surrounded by bark-eating pacifists.

Within seconds, the same Hork-Bajir who had walked into the door yesterday dropped down from a nearby tree and approached. Twig stepped ahead of us to greet it. Noticing two head blades, I assumed that the new Hork-Bajir was female.

The two came face to face. "Hello, Nat Kutuk." Twig greeted.

"Hello, Twig." The Hork-Bajir known as Nat yipped eagerly.

Then the female dipped her head forward in Twig's direction, her head blades pressed towards him. He looked baffled, glancing back to us for reassurance. We both shrugged.

Nat lifted her head, and then snorted out a little laugh. "Twig live with humans so long. Twig not _Hafku_."

"_Hafku_?" Twig asked, confused.

"_Hafku_ kiss." Nat taught. "Hork-Bajir say hello. Hork-Bajir _Hafku_. Kiss."

Twig jumped from one foot to the other nervously, and then looked to us once again for some help.

"Don't look at us!" I snapped, actually amused by the situation. "You'll have to figure this one out for yourself."

"Twig see kiss on TV before." He mumbled, not at all confident in tone.

Before we could advise against it, Twig reached his hands forward, clutched Nat's head and leaned forward. His long tongue poked out and he forced it into Nat's snout. Her eyes went wide and she froze in place, bamboozled by Twig's actions. A few seconds into Twig's rigorous routine, she politely pushed him away and wiped at her tongue with her hands.

"What TV channels have you been watching, Twig?" I asked. "Maybe I shouldn't ask…"

Nat was equally shocked by the unfamiliar gesture. "What Twig do?"

"Twig kiss…" He squeaked, sensing her aversion.

Nat began to laugh in the odd Hork-Bajir manner. "Not human kiss! Hork-Bajir kiss!" She moved her head forward again and touched her head blades to his. Twig was curious at first, but quickly relented.

Once their little greeting was out of the way, Nat turned to us. Twig smiled and pointed to us individually. "This Steven. This Brenda."

"Hi Nat." We each said, and then I added. "No need to kiss. Please."

Nat smiled warmly and chirped back a greeting. "Twig tell Nat about Steven and Brenda. Nice humans. Kind to Twig."

Brenda nodded. "We found him when he was a baby. We took care of him."

"And that's why he kisses like a human. A human with issues." I informed. "He's never really been around Hork-Bajir before. At least, ones that weren't in Yeerk cells."

Nat nodded and gifted a smile to Twig. He looked to the grass shyly.

"This Steven and Brenda home?" She then enquired, pointing to the house.

"Yep. That's where we live." I replied. "And this is our backyard." I gestured to the open area around us.

Nat cocked her head and repeated, "Backyard? This also human home?"

"Sort of, yes."

She became clearly embarrassed. "Nat not know. Steven and Brenda want Hork-Bajir go?"

My initial reply was going to be yes. These Hork-Bajir had unrightfully invaded our property, and they would undoubtedly cause some structural damage. However, something in my head stopped me and made me reconsider. My eyes trailed to Twig, and then to Brenda, who was waiting on a decision from me before she gave her own opinion.

"We will discuss it." I said to Nat while staring to Brenda. "You can stay here until we make a decision, as long as you are careful with our property."

Nat accepted this and rushed off to get the Hork-Bajir on our roof back into the trees. Brenda and I exchanged a few words and opted to return indoors to talk it over. Twig joined us, much to our curiosity, and then proceeded to watch the Hork-Bajir from the living room.

"I thought you were going to kick them out." Brenda said as we entered the kitchen. "That's what you would usually do. They'll damage your precious lawn."

"Things aren't that simple, Brenda." I grunted, beginning the process of making coffee. "You want one?"

"Sure. Double caffeine, I didn't sleep at all last night."

"You as well, huh?" I sighed. "We've been through a lot, so it's no big surprise."

She sat down heavily at the dinner table and rubbed at her tired eyes. "And now we've got hundreds of Twigs in our backyard. If Twig's screaming the other night was anything to go by, we won't stand a chance of sleep. A lot of them probably have PTSD."

I ignored her as she continued to talk, staring down at the coffee I had started to pour. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I began to think of Yarfush, and how he would have dealt with this situation.

My usual instincts would lead me to simply getting rid of the Hork-Bajir to stop my property getting damaged. I used to take the first short-sighted option available, not bothering to look for any sort of better solution. I would always avoid confrontation or risk.

But Yarfush was different. He saw past initial instinct, and with his wit would come up with a smart solution to the problems that faced him. He didn't cower away from the promotion that he had promised me. He asserted himself to my superiors and walked away with something successful, something which I could have never found the initiative to do. He could walk out of a hospital full of opposing soldiers without consequence, return to the base and explain himself to the higher-ups without repercussion.

Yarfush was a very clever Yeerk, and cleverness was something I needed right now. I needed to see through the skin of the situation and observe its inner workings. I needed to find the opportunity that would work and run with it.

Something clicked.

I brought the coffees to the table and sat opposite to Brenda. "I think I have a solution."

Brenda raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess: We eat Hork-Bajir when we start to run out of food?"

I shook my head. "No."

She smiled. "Okay, I'll be serious. What's your idea?"

I bowed my head to ready myself for her reaction. "We hand ourselves in. We go to the next town over and give ourselves over to the authorities."

Brenda grumbled. "We talked about that, Steven."

"I know we did, but now things are a little different." I said, indicating to the backyard. "If we hand ourselves in, take the required days of confinement, Twig can be with the other Hork-Bajir."

She shook her head doubtfully. "He'll get rounded up and taken somewhere, I just know it. Who knows what would happen to him…"

A smile crept to my face. "Yes. That's why we give him our house."

Her eyes bolted up to me in disbelief. "What… Give him the house?"

"For as long as we are gone." I said. "We lock the front door, make the place look empty from the outside… He can hide here in case anyone comes along to take or harm him. No one's going to look in a human home for a Hork-Bajir."

Brenda lifted herself to sit up straight, running the concept through her head. "But he'll be alone. We can't leave him again, not after how he reacted last time. He'll think we've betrayed him again."

I still couldn't wipe the smile from my face. It was like some unexplained inner satisfaction produced by a cunning, insightful presence within me. "We let him stay in the home, and we let him bring his friends, too. He doesn't have to be alone when he has a Yeerk-base-worth of Hork-Bajir out there."

She shook her head, still reeling in scepticism. "But the house will be ruined. They'll trash the place! Our home looked like a mess after Twig was here for just a year. What will happen when the place is overrun by that many fully-grown Twigs?"

I shrugged. "I don't know."

Brenda's eyes narrowed, that suspicious look returning. Then it changed, and a smile took its place.

"You really have changed." She whispered. "You really, really have."

We went over some specifics for the next hour or so. The front door would be locked, and all the windows at the front of the house closed and covered so that no passers-by could see inside (Passers-by would be extremely rare, if not present at all, but we would have to make sure just in case). The doors to the backyard would be open so that the Hork-Bajir could enter and leave as they pleased, and one Hork-Bajir would be posted there to inform of the rules and regulations for the temporary hotel.

Most things smashable or easily breakable would be moved to the attic, save for a few things like the television and the piggy bank which they could use for entertainment (It was amazing how much entertainment Twig could find in a piggy bank with a few loose coins inside). Electrical appliances were also removed and plug sockets hidden from sight to avoid any curious Hork-Bajir connecting itself to the mains.

Twig was to be in charge of cooking. We would leave behind some pasta, rice and maybe a vegetarian pizza or two. He would be able to experiment as he pleased, as long as he didn't set the house on fire.

We knew that the house would suffer considerably under the temporary ownership, but we didn't really care. What mattered now was our safety, and from what I could foresee, this was the only solution which would ensure safety and happiness for the three of us. If any human approached the house, a lookout would inform Twig, and he and the other Hork-Bajir in the house would hide, close blinds and doors and pretend no one was home.

We went over the rules, and all the while Brenda would be watching me with that same suspicion, but now it was always accompanied by a smile.

I felt so different, so assured of myself. Confidence began to flow through me, the same confidence that Yarfush would radiate when he made any risky decision. The same confidence that would allow him to overcome his uncertainty and to make the decisions that mattered.

This decision mattered, and now it was I who was making it. It felt unusual, but it felt good as well.

Not only was Yarfush able to expertly cope with difficult situations, he was also insightful. He was right when he said Twig was kept here like a slave. I didn't quite believe him at first, but seeing Twig's behaviour and actions once we had escaped the Yeerk base helped me realise what he meant. I remembered when we first escaped, when Twig declined to go off with the other Hork-Bajir and opted to walk back home with us instead. I remembered when he wouldn't leave the home just an hour earlier this afternoon when we opened the doors to the backyard.

We were his masters, and he was the obedient slave. His isolated behaviour over the last couple of days was originally thought to be the mourning of his memories under Yeerk control, but I began to suspect something more sinister. Perhaps it was his Yeerk who had told him, or maybe he realised it with his own insight, but he knew that while the other Hork-Bajir would run to freedom, he would simply move from one master to the other.

Not only would my plan protect him from any ill-intentioned humans, it would grant him his freedom. For the days we were gone, he could play amongst those of his own species and swing in the trees of the woods behind our home. He had never done such things before, and now we were letting him off of our metaphorical leash.

Together, we finished up our plans, and then we brought Twig into the kitchen to explain.

"Steven and Brenda leave Twig?" He whimpered, sadness present in his tone.

"Just for a few days, Twig." Brenda explained. "We need to do this. We can't survive unless we have a car or medical services. The only way to get those things is to go through the detaining process."

He opened his snout to speak, but I continued Brenda's explanation. "We won't leave you alone Twig. You have the other Hork-Bajir."

"But… bad humans come. Take Twig. Take Hork-Bajir." He whined.

"You'll have the house, Twig." I said. "You'll be able to hide if any humans come. You and your friends can be safe here."

We went over all the rules with Twig. At first, he was unsure of what all of it meant and how he could possibly live in the house without us around, but when we started explaining the rules of where he could venture, I noticed his mood change. We told him that he could go outside, he could travel to the nearby stream that trickled from the distant mountains to drink, he could run off to find more Hork-Bajir and bring them back to the community that would undoubtedly grow from here. He could be with Nat and kiss her in whatever way he pleased, so long as she wasn't too repulsed.

He realised the same things that I and Brenda had: He was no longer a slave. I saw it in the unhindered smile that he gave us as we finished explaining our rules and ideas to him.

We cooked ourselves an early dinner: a vegetarian pasta dish that was void of any ingredients Twig found undesirable or didn't settle well with his stomach. The three of us ate together over wine and bark-infused rum, and we rejoiced in the family that we had.

After dinner, we packed a couple of things and said our temporary goodbyes. We couldn't imagine what we would return to in a few days. We didn't care.

Twig had been granted his freedom, while, for a few days, we would lose ours.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

We were away for seven days, a whole week. We left home and walked ourselves to the nearest police station on the first night, where we explained to the chief that we were ex-controllers. He accepted our story and told us that we would have to go through the standard detaining process, which involved being driven to a prison hundreds of miles away.

The prison had been mostly emptied of convicts, who had been moved to neighbouring detention centres. The place we were taken to was now being used to contain suspected controllers like ourselves, the high security of the prison utilised to prevent escape from anyone who actually turned out to hold a Yeerk slug in their head.

Because very few people here were actually proven to hold a Yeerk, the prison staff were to treat us not like convicts, but as guests. We were incredibly thankful for that. The service wasn't fantastic, but we didn't expect much from a prison in the first place.

Brenda and I were allowed to share a cell, but cell doors were kept unlocked, so we were free to walk the complex as we pleased. We met a few new people, and even one or two who we knew previously, before the war went public.

The detaining process wasn't as bad as we thought it would be. Yes, we spent most of the time staring at gruesomely grey walls, but we were treated like normal human beings. Our injuries were treated by proper medical staff. I was determined to do most of the work on my own arm, and even helped with other peoples broken bones.

Perhaps the best thing about it was that we were able to talk. We didn't argue, we didn't fall into dreadful silences, we just talked. Brenda seemed a lot less stressed now, and I allowed her to express her feelings to me in a way that I hadn't done for years. I listened to her concerns and told her honestly what I felt were the solutions. I told her mine, and she wondered where the drastic change in my attitude had come from. She joked that the Yeerk was still in my head.

In some ways, he was.

So for the next four days, we resided in the prison, wasting time by playing ball games outside and talking on the inside. We grew closer in those days, and by the time we were allowed to leave, we actually felt that we would miss the place. The time we spent together was precious, and we were beginning to feel a tether developing between us once again.

We were released on the fifth day into a strange place that we had never visited before. The streets were busy with refugees from the coast who had escaped the cities and towns most affected by the war. Hotels everywhere were full, so we had to travel further north to find a place to stay for the night. We found a quaint little place on the Oregon border hosted by a lovely old couple who fully understood our situation. They said that we could stay as long as we needed to get back on our own two feet.

The prison had offered to drive us back home once we left, but with our house invaded by Hork-Bajir, that wouldn't have been wise. Instead, we would spend the sixth day finally searching out a new car with the limited cash we had. We took a bus into the nearest business park and found a second-hand car dealership, and I let Brenda roam. I sat down for a coffee while she looked for the ugliest car in the showroom. She didn't let me down, and after about an hour, she had picked a car that Hades himself would have been proud of. It was a ghastly shade of yellow and it had the face of a constipated pit bull. She loved it.

Now that we had served our sentence, we were able to sign all the necessary forms, and we finally had a car. It was hideous, but it had wheels and an engine, so I couldn't really complain. What I _could_ complain about was being told that even though _she_ bought it, _I_ had to drive it.

Despite that, it was a good feeling to be driving once more. We took our new vehicle around town and picked up some essentials and some snacks for the long journey back. We even treated ourselves to a nice restaurant dinner. After the last few weeks, I felt we had deserved it.

We stayed there for one last night, and the next day we had breakfast, paid our hosts, and drove home.

The traffic was, unsurprisingly, all heading in the opposite direction as we drove along the highway towards the coast. As we got closer and closer to home, the number of cars on the road dwindled, and soon there were more police and military vehicles around than anything else. We were entering war territory. That became more obvious when we were pulled over by the highway cops just a few miles before we pulled off onto the back roads.

The officer who questioned us was suspicious, and was quick to ask for evidence that we weren't under Yeerk control. We displayed a certificate that we had received before leaving the prison, and that seemed to satisfy him, but he strongly urged us to turn back and find somewhere to stay for the night. When we told him that we needed to head home, he reluctantly let us go after a long safety lecture.

We returned home as the sun was just dropping below the tree tops, and drove our new car into the empty driveway. As we exited, we could already make out a big difference to our home.

All around us, leaping between the tall trees over the road, were great hordes of Hork-Bajir. They retreated from our presence, but one remained. It threw itself onto the road to our far left, and lifted its head high into the air. "Who are humans?!" It shouted.

"Steven and Brenda." I replied. "We're home."

The Hork-Bajir grinned and jumped into the bushes that led to our backyard. Brenda and I moved to wait outside the front door. Soon enough, it opened to a familiar face.

"Steven and Brenda home!" Twig beamed. Before we could offer our own words, he pulled us both close into a tight embrace. Too tight. I tapped him on the shoulder to make it clear, and he dropped us apologetically.

"Hi Twig!" Brenda smiled. "Did you miss us?"

"Miss Steven and Brenda a lot." Twig admitted. "Take long time. Think maybe not come back."

"Well, we're back now." I said. "Let's see what damage you've done."

Twig's face crawled from a look of utter joy to one of nervous guilt. "Okay… Steven and Brenda see home… Twig try. Twig _really_ try. Mop floor, clean windows and-"

"Twig," I interrupted. "Can we just see it?"

He nodded slowly and moved out of the way of the door to let us in.

The first thing to hit me as I walked through the door frame was the smell. It wasn't a familiar smell, but it wasn't particularly pleasant. It certainly smelled like alien lizards had been camped in there for a week.

Then my eyesight took over and my shoulders slumped. Brenda gasped at my side. The place was, as expected, a complete mess. Uncooked pasta was strewn messily over the flooring, intertwined cunningly with piles of loose change, their origins unknown. They were joined by flora of various kinds: pieces of chewed bark and loose leaves and dirt. Holes randomly decorated the laminate flooring where toe claws had dug into it. The walls were covered in scrapes where blades had caught.

Twig was now hiding himself behind us, tail tucked firmly between his legs. "Twig try…"

I could have been angry, but I had prepared myself for such a sight. This is what we expected, having allowed the Hork-Bajir into our home. The house wasn't quite built with them in mind.

"It's okay, Twig." I smiled to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "We can get this cleaned up."

The uncooked pasta continued and increased in frequency into the kitchen. We breathed a sigh of relief when we saw no signs of fire or any singed Hork-Bajir, but the smell of Twig's experimental meals almost made me sick. I didn't really want to ask what he had been cooking. Pasta and rice bags and pizza boxes lay over the worktop, emptied and slightly chewed. The pizza boxes had been ripped in half - Hork-Bajir obviously struggle to open cardboard boxes properly.

All my coffee was gone. Well, most of it. What remained was now at the bottom of a broken kettle.

I shook my head at the nightmare that our home had become.

"Where are the others?" Brenda questioned, curtailing my misery. "All the other Hork-Bajir?"

"Here." Twig said, guiding us towards the living room.

We entered, and were again shocked by the sight. It was full to the brim with Hork-Bajir. They lay across the floor and the seats. They sat up around the walls. All over, they were huddled up together to the point where floor had become non-existent under green limbs. It was like some nightmarish opium den.

Dozens of heads turned up to us, falling silent at our presence.

"Steven and Brenda home." Twig chirped.

Suddenly, the room erupted in a chorus of greetings, and we found ourselves surrounded by a wall of the beasts, eager to thank those who had lent them shelter.

It was a bit overwhelming, but Twig was quick to spot it and helped to disband the Hork-Bajir. They went back to resting in front of the blaring television.

On the living room table, in the middle of the pit, a couple of half-eaten pizzas topped with various pieces of bark were stacked and a couple of bowls of water stood. Puddles of liquid printed over the chewed wood and dripped silently to the laminate floor. The walls of the room were even more scraped than those in the rest of the house. Obviously, this was where most of the Hork-Bajir resided.

The television was set to a cable news channel. Reports were still pouring in that detailed the on-going war, and the Hork-Bajir seemed determined to get as much information as possible. They knew that any moment now, something could come through that would greatly affect their lives for better or worse. The volume of the TV was excessively loud, and plenty of red, slit eyes followed the reporters on-screen.

Twig looked embarrassed. "Twig tell other Hork-Bajir rules. Hork-Bajir follow rules. Sometimes scratch walls or floors, though…"

"Again, don't worry about it, Twig." I said. "We expected this."

He smiled and once again hugged us, though not so tightly this time. "Twig miss so much. Happy Steven and Brenda back."

We accepted the affection and brushed ourselves off when he finally put us back down. "We're just happy you're all safe." Brenda said.

"We'll need to have the place empty soon, though." I mentioned. "The place needs a damn good clean."

Twig took note. "Hork-Bajir will go back outside soon. Let Steven and Brenda clean."

I wanted to inspect the place a little more. I stepped carefully between the bodies of Hork-Bajir who slept on the floor and pulled myself closer to the window that overlooked the backyard. What I saw outside made the hairs on my neck stand. I was getting used to that feeling.

We thought that the backyard had been invaded before. Now it was no longer a backyard at all. It was a campsite for what I suspected to be all the escaped Hork-Bajir from the destroyed Yeerk base. The scene was overrun by the flashes of green skin and blades. They lay upon the grass and danced up high in the trees. They had set up a large bonfire from branches and dried weeds and grass in the centre of the opening. It was ashes now, but piles of Hork-Bajir lay huddled, asleep around its remains. It was a sight from some epic work of fiction, something out of this world.

Brenda had caught up to me, and her expression was of a similar vein. "Oh my God…" She managed to whisper. "It's like every single one of them found their way here…"

"Sure looks that way." I agreed. Then I turned back to Twig. "There's, uh… a lot."

He nodded with a toothy grin. "All want to come. Want to be safe."

"Did anyone come to the house?" I asked him.

"Someone knock on door on first day." He said. "No one answer. Pretend no one home. Humans go away."

"Good." I smiled, relieved. "It's great that you're safe."

"Steven and Brenda go for dee-tay-ning?"

I crawled away from the window and made my way back over the sleeping aliens. "Yes. We got it all done. We have a car again, too."

Twig seemed please, but he never really took any notice of our old car, so I didn't imagine it meant that much to him.

Once we were back to the living room entrance, Twig decided to re-introduce us to one of his friends. On one of the smaller leather seats, Nat was sat with a glass in hand, leaning against the arm rest.

Brenda and I swapped a knowing smile as Twig sat beside the female. She gazed up at us. "Hello Steven. Hello Brenda."

We said hello back, and she informed us that she had been sharing a lot of the house responsibilities with Twig, perhaps explaining why the cleaning was a little below par, even for Twig.

"So you and Twig have been spending a lot of time together." I said suggestively, giving Twig a sly wink. He didn't seem to understand.

Nat said yes and took a long sip from her drink. It was a glass of bark-infused rum. It was then when we decided to explore the rest of the house.

"Twig," I spoke. "I think maybe it's time you started taking everyone outside. We need to start clearing things up."

"Okay. Twig move Hork-Bajir." He agreed. "Nat come, too."

Nat replied by farting unashamedly. I started to think that maybe not letting Hork-Bajir drink white rum would have been a wise decision.

"She's a great match for you, Twig." I observed.

We retreated upstairs, away from the Hork-Bajir room.

"Well, at least the place is still standing…" I compromised.

"It's going to be a hell of a job to clean." Brenda grumbled. "But Twig is safe. That was the point, right?"

"Yes. That was the point."

I opened up our bedroom door, and we walked inside.

We froze at the sight of two Hork-Bajir on our bed, doing something only grown-ups do. We walked back out.

I broke an awkward silence that ensued. "We need new bed sheets."

So instead of retreating to the bedroom, we retreated to the spare room, which over the last few years had become a storage room. It was free of Hork-Bajir, so we sat on the old single bed after removing some cardboard boxes.

"So…" I began.

"So…" She agreed.

I sighed deeply and rubbed at my cheek. "We finally got it done. Twig is still here. We have ourselves a car."

"That's true." She smiled. "Your idea worked, I guess."

"There's always a first time for everything." I joked.

She nodded and played with her fingers, turning her eyes away from me. "Steven, I don't quite know what happened."

"What do you mean?"

She paused, then, "Before all this went down, I really, really didn't like you."

"Thanks…" I groaned.

"You used to be so self-centred. You didn't care about how other people felt. If something inconvenienced you, you refused to do it, or you didn't put any real effort into it."

"That's not true." I defended. "There was one thing that I put my effort into. I wanted to keep us together."

"I know, Steven," She said. "But you can't just concentrate on me and expect me to fall for you again. I hated your attitude to the things around you, not just your attitude to me."

I nodded, staring down at my legs. Suddenly, I felt contact on my right hand. She was holding me.

"I don't know what happened down in that Yeerk base," She spoke gently. "But you haven't been the same since. You… You're more like the man I married. You don't just give up and take the easy way out. You listen to me. You try to make things better, even if it makes things a little harder for yourself."

"A lot of things happened in the base." I concurred. "Some things I don't think I'll ever forget."

She used her finger to guide my face towards hers. She was smiling lightly.

"There are some things _I_ won't ever forget. I won't forget the way you treated me for three years. I won't forget what you did with Cindy. Those are things that I can't ever forgive you for."

I nodded my head slowly, feeling a little cornered.

"But there are other things, too. I won't forget how you saved me from the Yeerk base. I won't forget how you comforted me and Twig on the first night back. And I won't forget this last week. You've managed to keep us safe. All three of us. Sure, in the end, no one came for Twig, but there was always that chance. You protected us, something which I thought I couldn't trust you to do before."

"So, does that mean…?"

She chuckled. "It means that we're going to have to move to a new home. Together."


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

The war ended. Just days after we returned home, the earliest reports forging the rumour spread like a disease through the media. Information was hazy, and considering the sources of the reports, that wasn't at all surprising. The battle was being fought somewhere outside of the Earth's atmosphere. It was like something out of a sci-fi movie.

Battles had been raging on the ground not too far from where we lived, but now the battlefield had moved, and the media had no real idea what was going on. The world was already devastated when the rest of our town was finished off by the Yeerks, something which Twig had neglected to inform us about. I chastised him for that and thanked my lucky stars that we lived far enough away that out house didn't fall victim to the brazen assault.

The reports showed a town completely flattened. Nothing remained. Everything of the town I had known for years was gone. We had to get out of there as quick as we could before our luck ran out.

In the end, we had no choice in the matter. Military personnel arrived at the house while we were starting the clean-up and we were forced into a truck that took us as far away from the wasteland as necessary. They were orders, not options, and we were taken in spite of our protests to a crummy hotel a few towns away.

Our eyes were glued to the tiny television set for the next couple of days. All media attention was now focused purely on some made-up "countdown to Armageddon". Reports were fuzzy and speculative, and for a prolonged period, no one was allowed in on any details. We lived in confusion and panic. Brenda sat in tears, frightened for Twig and the other Hork-Bajir we were forced to leave behind. I held her and told her it would all work itself out.

I was sat with a coffee and some tabloid on the morning the rumours broke. My attention became totally engrossed as the words "surrender" and "victory" began to become more and more frequent. Brenda quickly arrived at my side, and we held each other, kneeling just feet from the screen. Soon, the rumours became fact. The main ship that had been orbiting Earth had been taken, the Yeerk food supply now in human hands.

We didn't quite know how to take the news. In the end, we poured another coffee and tried to find other news sources that would back-up what we had already been told.

The rumours were true. We had won. Humanity was victorious. However, details on how exactly the Pool ship was taken took a little longer to be provided to the public.

After the news, we demanded to be returned to our home, but it took another day of waiting before the authorities reluctantly allowed us to travel back. When we finally got there, our escorts noticed a "slight issue" and told us that we may have to return to the hotel. We knew what they meant, and we told them that we didn't mind the Hork-Bajir presence around our house. They had been left there the whole time, and despite the danger, they had remained. The escorts were suspicious, but thankfully they didn't ask too many questions, and dropped us off outside of our home.

The Hork-Bajir were pleased to see us. They, including Twig, were locked outside when we were taken away, and had not been informed of the recent events, nor could they get inside to check the TV. Twig embraced us even tighter than last time, and we apologised profusely for our unplanned absence. We made it up to him well enough with the news we brought.

The TV was turned on. He and a few other Hork-Bajir joined us in the living room as the news was given to them. What followed was an incredible reaction as the news spread quickly to the aliens that dwelled in the woods behind our house. The cheering was rapturous, and we watched from the house as the Hork-Bajir took the revelations with unhindered glee. That night, we joined them outside for the celebrations over a large bonfire and a feast. It was heavily biased to a more bark-centred diet, so I and Brenda made ourselves some vegetable soup and dined alongside them.

The night of joy soon became a night of remembrance as the drug-like effect of victory withered and mourning for the lost took its place. The war had taken families, parents, children and friends. That struck home all too pitilessly.

We retreated to our new bed sheets, but we didn't sleep at all that night. No one did. The emotions were too thick, the memories too vivid. I gave up trying, and from 2AM onwards I crept back downstairs and watched as the media continued to postulate events.

The days following were harsh. The Hork-Bajir's victory high was cut short as their uncertain future crept over them. Our own predicament was troubling enough, because the devastation of our home town, coupled with our nearly-destroyed home, meant that we would have no choice but to move to a new home as soon as possible. We had no jobs, and hence no income, so our first priority was to move nearer to civilisation. This task was made more difficult due to lack of funds, and we couldn't simply refurbish and sell our home to make up the money. No one would buy a house so close to ground-zero.

We decided to wait for the government to finally decide what to do with the Hork-Bajir, who had now congregated from all over to our woodlands. Now that the war was done, the authorities could move their attentions to such matters, and debate quickly came to the forefront of the news media. Public perception would be largely influential in the decision, and at first they were understandably sceptical. However, when more information with regards to the Hork-Bajir was released to the masses, the scepticism rapidly changed to sympathy. Coupled with that, a mysteriously well-read Hork-Bajir from a colony previously unknown to us gave a number of heartfelt interviews to the nation that finalised public opinion. The government agreed to host the Hork-Bajir until further developments were made. The news came as a big relief to our woodland residents.

Of course, this meant that the Hork-Bajir were to be accounted for across the nation. Military personnel arrived in the area and formed perimeters around a large section of woodland. They didn't like that our home was in the centre of the new Hork-Bajir home, so they herded the Hork-Bajir further south, about a mile from where we lived. We were again separated from Twig, who was tearfully dragged away and told that the government required him to move.

The extra space allowed us to make our plans. With our limited funding, we would move to a nearby city that was still operational and reside in a small apartment until we found jobs and made enough money to once again live in a nice house.

However, we didn't quite find ourselves in the right state of mind. We knew that moving away would separate us indefinitely from Twig, and neither Brenda nor I wanted that to happen. He was family now, and we didn't want anything to get between that. We visited him daily, meeting up at the perimeter border with permission from the military forces present. He thought that we would leave him for good, but we assured him that we would stay with him wherever he went.

Things between me and Brenda were improved beyond anything I could imagine. She had finally found some trust in me, and that made all the difference. The constant arguing dramatically decreased in frequency, and with the lack of jobs, we were able to spend as much time together as we needed. Most of our time was spent cleaning up the house to make it liveable again, and during the nights we would pour out some wine and talk about all the things that had happened in the last few weeks. We laughed, we cried, we had yet more awkward silences, but it was so much more comfortable now. It felt like the first years of our marriage again.

In the following months, we moved into a small apartment in the next town over and got two low wage jobs to keep ourselves afloat. We were still close enough to the woodlands to keep visiting Twig, but the travelling was a lot more difficult to keep up. Eventually, our daily visits became bi-daily, then weekly. We felt awful about it, because Twig was still so attached to us. He cried every time we left, and it broke our hearts. We were thankful, though, that he was steadily coming to grips with Hork-Bajir life and culture, and we noticed him taking a greater interest in Nat as time went on. Perhaps soon, he would begin a family of his own. Brenda, despite the difficulties that stood in the way, was determined to be around to see that family develop.

Nearly a year had passed since the war had come to its climax. The world was still recovering from the effects of the war, adjusting to the concept that we had not been alone in the universe this whole time. The "Andalite bandits", only one of which was actually an Andalite, were praised as the saviours of the human race, and till this day, they still reigned as the most talked about celebrities on the planet. Most of them, anyway.

I finally got to see an Andalite. They were a strange sight, much like hairy centaurs lacking mouths and utilising two extra eyes, all finished off with a horrible scorpion-like tail. Their technological and cultural influence quickly spread, and they were soon becoming a regular sight on the television. They worked closely with the U.S. government, and managed to get a small tourist organisation placed, which meant that places like Washington D.C. were teeming with them.

They were just as arrogant as Yarfush had mentioned, and that quickly became obvious when Andalite war-princes began performing interviews for cable news stations and appearing on guest panels. Public opinion of them bordered somewhere between appreciation and irritation.

Opinions on the Hork-Bajir were more positive, likely due to their inoffensive nature. The government worked with Andalite authorities to resolve the problem of what to do with them, and they decided in the end that the isolated groups would be combined and given a new home, its location yet to be determined. Our government pressured the Andalites into fixing the Hork-Bajir's home world, claiming that it was ultimately their fault that the Hork-Bajir ended up on Earth, and that if they wanted to stay on good terms, they would do us that favour. The newly-emerging facts of the war didn't shine well on the Andalites, and though they never accepted blame, they were willing to compromise to keep from losing their reputation as saviours of the galaxy, so they eventually relented.

Let's just say that we humans had things that the Andalite desperately wanted. Namely, food. It came as a shock to everyone how easily the Andalites were swayed with the promise of home cooked bagels or apple pie. When we promised food and the continuation of Andalite tourism, they were willing to compromise almost anything.

Eventually, the presence of alien species on our planet became the norm. Andalites began appearing in soap operas and TV sitcoms, the Hork-Bajir found themselves as the focus of various documentaries and charity appeals. A great memorial service was hosted by the American government for all those lost in the war, either free or under Yeerk control. There were considerably fewer human casualties, but by now the world population was accustomed enough to our alien allies that they felt it necessary to honour their fallen as well.

Things were soon starting to grow tense again between Brenda and I again. We were frustrated with our new low-wage jobs, and we often took our anger out on each other. Determined not to damage our relationship further, we gave up waiting for Twig to finally be relocated, and searched out permanent jobs in some major city somewhere.

Then we had to cancel. Just as we were about to move to Oregon, where I had been offered a suitable job in a hospital in Salem, the government decided on where to move the Hork-Bajir. They were headed for the Southern border of Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming, and the process of transporting the Hork-Bajir began with immediate effect.

Brenda and I met Twig the day before they left, and we promised him that we would follow. By this time, he had finally fallen for Nat, and the two were a couple. He wouldn't be alone on the long and arduous journey north, and we told Nat to keep his hopes up. We truly intended to keep our promise, and as soon as we arrived home, we began job-searching again.

It didn't take long at all, and we finally found something. Now that the Hork-Bajir were moving en masse to Yellowstone, the area was going through a great shift that involved the creation of a lot of new jobs. That included medical centres specifically designed for Hork-Bajir. A lot of staff from local hospitals were being trained to handle the Hork-Bajir and would be moved to the new centres, which left some hospitals in need of new staff. I sent in a résumé, and within the week I was being offered an orthopaedic position at a hospital in Jackson, not far from where the Hork-Bajir would be residing.

We found an apartment situated nearby. It wasn't big, nor was it entirely comfortable, but it was better than what we had been living in for the past year, and it was good enough to live in while we got used to our new environments and our new jobs. Brenda applied to a few office placements in the local area and was quickly snapped up by a small up-and-coming company who required the extra staff.

So we moved, and the first week was spent acquainting ourselves with our new home and the change of climate. I introduced myself to my new office, preparing myself for the long days of work I would soon be suffering and meeting up with my new work peers. It was very similar to where I used to work, much to my distress, but by now I was eager to start. I preferred the mind-numbing boredom of work to the constant fear that the war brought. It was a comfortable irritation.

Twig was hard to find, having been moved to Yellowstone weeks before we got there. Before he left the woodlands, we told him to stay near the borders of his new home, and sure enough, that's where we eventually found him.

It had taken us a long time, but we were finally reunited. That night, the three of us found a secluded spot, and we ate a picnic together that Brenda had prepared. Twig was overjoyed at our arrival, and he couldn't resist the urge to cling onto us like a lost child.

After telling him where we lived, he moved to a tree that was as close to us as possible. He may now have been living among his own people and adapting to that new lifestyle, but he had grown up with us long enough to develop some distinctively human habits and characteristics. Every Sunday, he would crawl in through our apartment window to watch football. He knew that he would never achieve his dream of playing for the 49ers, but watching their progress pleased him to no end.

There was one dream that he did achieve, however. On those Sundays when he arrived in our apartment, he would talk endlessly about the times he would stand before his friends and lead them in a chorus of abysmal pop songs. Sometimes we would return home to find him sat in front of the television, taking notes of new songs to sing as they appeared on MTV. He was still awful at singing, of course, but the other Hork-Bajir seemed to view him as their equivalent of Pavarotti.

Something else happened for him as well: Nat moved into his tree. After a while, she began to join him on Sundays as he came to our home. She was never that interested in football, but she was too enthralled by Twig to care.

Things had finally settled down after four years of struggles, stress and slavery. Once again, we were happy. Not Disney "happily ever after" happy, but _satisfied_ happy.

Brenda and I even had similar work shifts. No longer did she have to work till late and over the weekends. We had Saturdays and Sundays free to spend doing what we wanted. On this particular Sunday, we walked the periphery of the Hork-Bajir territory. It was a scenic route over hills that looked down over the edges of the park and over to the distant mountains. It took us over a particularly large hill that gazed down over open Hork-Bajir land, where tourists came to take pictures as the aliens would gather below to harvest bark. On Sundays, this area wasn't quite so busy, so we took up a blanket in the mid-afternoon, sat under the cool sun and watched the activity below. Tourists came and went, taking pictures and admiring the views, but we remained.

We remained for a reason. This was in clear sight of Twig's new tree. He noticed us after a long day of harvesting and caring for the trees, and approached us with that goofy smile that was so typical of the Hork-Bajir. He jumped the fence that kept out the tourists, and swallowed Brenda up in a gentle embrace. He gave me his best attempt at a formal handshake.

"Hello Steven. Hello Brenda. How are you today?" He asked in his most human tone.

"We're great." Brenda stated. "And you?"

"Twig happy!" He yipped. "Twig and Nat find _big_ new tree. Bark so sweet. Taste very good!"

"We'll have to try some." I joked.

"Twig bring tonight for football. Steven and Brenda like."

"I wasn't being serious, Godzilla." I rolled my eyes. "We'll stick to lasagne, if you don't mind."

He laughed, and then scratched at the back of his neck. "Bring Nat, too?"

"Of course," Brenda said. "She's always welcome."

"Just as long as you both stay away from the white rum." I added with a grin.

Twig smiled warmly at us both. "Thank you."

Later that night, after football had finished and we had eaten our dinner, Twig and Nat fell asleep in a bundle beside the television, while I and Brenda sat in each other's arms on the sofa. We talked as best as we could over the snoring that resonated from the two napping Hork-Bajir.

We drifted into some pleasant silence, and I thought back to all that I had been through. Times had been tough, and the memories would plague my soul until the day I died, but a lot of good had also come of those last few years.

I remembered that empty feeling in my head that I felt on the night I was freed. The feeling that a part of me had left when Yarfush died.

I was wrong. Nothing had left me. Those spaces in my head had been there for years. Yarfush, Howson, and all the other victims of the war I met simply made me realise that those voids existed. Parts of me that used to be were gone.

Howson was right all along. Yarfush became a part of me. He became the part of me that had been missing for so long: the man who felt no fear of confrontation, the man who took risks and came out the other end victorious. He showed me how to be that man again.

So that night, as we dozed off into blissful slumber, I said silent prayers for them. For Howson. For Yarfush. For those who had made me complete again. The slave and the master, the expressive and the assertive.

Suddenly, I didn't feel like sleeping. I gave Brenda a gentle nudge and she smiled up at me.

"Coffee?" I asked.

"Coffee." She agreed.

**Author's Message**

First off, I want to thank those of you who have taken the time to read what has been my first venture into fiction – _completed_ venture, anway. It's been an absolute joy to write this story, and I hope you took just as much joy from reading it.

It hasn't been an easy task, especially considering the speed at which it has been written. I didn't initially intend to complete a chapter every day, but once I got into that pattern, I feared loss of motivation if I fell out of it. I really hope that keeping up with that pace didn't negatively affect the quality of certain chapters, and sometimes I feared the uploading of chapters, feeling that perhaps I was rushing myself.

When I began Twig, I started with a simple idea. There was no plot written down, only three characters conceptualised, and I had no idea how to end it. Those details were added while the story was being written. Essentially, the story has been one long improvisation. Again, I hope that this hasn't negatively affected it. It is, however, not something I will risk again if I am to write another piece.

Speaking of which, if Twig is well received, I will likely write more Animorphs fan-fiction. I have plans for a continuation of the series (55 and onwards), if people find my writing style agreeable, and also plans for a story more based around Andalites. It's planned as a comedy!

So if you have enjoyed this story, please feel free to comment and critique. If you wish to pass me suggestion or simply wish to discuss things, you can contact me via Skype: Adam Heap or blujugganaut

Don't be shy!

Again, thank you so much for reading. I hope to be uploading again soon!


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